


A Kingdom in the Sands

by Valpur



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Archaeology, Blackwatch Era, Brotherly Affection, Explicit Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mentor Gabriel Reyes, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Smut, but just re. character ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valpur/pseuds/Valpur
Summary: Jesse McCree, a young archaeologist with a slight obsession with Indiana Jones, can't accept the orders to shut down the excavation site he's been working on for months.He takes the matter in his hands, expecting trouble - but not of the supernatural, angry kind.Because come on, fairytales aren't real... are they?





	1. Indiana Jones and the Time He Fucked Up Real Bad

 

“Yer kiddin’ me”.

McCree’s voice sounded dull in his own ears. As his gaze lingered on Gabe’s face – all hard hazel eyes and lips twisted in a furious grimace – he knew he was not kidding at all, and yet he had to ask. He _needed_ to believe there was a chance it was all a misunderstanding.

Reyes clenched his fists on his desk and stared at McCree, cocking an eyebrow.

“Do I look like I’m having fun, kid? ‘Cause trust me, I’m having none at all”.

“But come on, you can’t be serious!” Fareeha’s voice was sharp as a knife, her broad shoulders tense as she shot a look at her mother, standing beside her wide-eyed and pale. “You can’t ask us to shut the excavation site down!”

“You heard me: stop working, they’re cutting fundings from above and we’re expendable”. Reyes leaned back on his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, messing the already ruffled tangle of black curls.

“Gabe, is this all? Really?” Ana shook her head and stepped closer, hands splayed on the desk and a dark grey lock dangling on her forehead. “Just ‘put your shovels away and go back to your lab pretending you’ve never been to Harut’?”

Harut. Almost too small and definitely too chaotic to be called a town, lost somewhere between Egypt and Saudi Arabia. A place not many found interesting enough to investigate.

“Yeah, right”. McCree roused and jammed the worn out leather hat on his head. Shock was quickly giving way to anger. “We’ve been sweatin’ under the sun for months, we’re _this_ close to find somethin’ important an’ the big bosses want to kick us out? No way”.

“Jesse’s got a point: we _do_ have some results – these vases and plates we found two weeks ago must mean something”, pointed out Fareeha, her objection met by a proud nod on her mother’s side.

“Guys – guys. Stop it”. Gabe stood up and glared at Ana, bitter but sympathetic. “That’s the truth, plain and simple: we’re not glamorous enough to be in the limelight, we don’t shit gold – at least _I_ don’t, if any of you has this peculiar anatomical condition please let me know, we could use that – and Harut is no safe place”.

“We’re not scared”, snarled Ana, and for all her small frame she looked threatening. McCree, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and picking a squished cigarette, had to give Gabe some credit for facing her like that, unflinching.

“That’s the problem, Ana: you should be. We all should be, and…”

“You’re not scared either”, she interrupted him, and Gabe’s lips pressed in a line.

“No, I’m not. Not for me, at least, but you – all of you…” His shoulders, clad in his usual army green t-shirt, fell and he sighed. “No matter how much we like to play at war, we’re not soldiers. We’re archaeologists and nothing more”.

“I can shoot. Never missed a target, y’know”, grunted McCree, lighting up his cigarette and scrunching his nose as the smoke rose to fill his nostrils. Gabe gave him one of his most deadly stares, and just five years ago a younger, still struggling with his last college years McCree would have shivered. Now he just tipped his hat back and grinned.

“First: no smoking in my office…”

“Yer callin’ this metal container an office?” and he knocked on the wall. It was so hot he could feel it burning even through his gloves. “More like a tin can”.  
Gabe bared his teeth.

“… and second, take off that ridiculous hat of yours. You’re not Indiana Jones, McCree”.

“I’m younger and sexier, true”. (Ana snorted a ‘you wish’, but McCree ignored her). He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, approaching the desk. “But no way I’m lettin’ those assholes up there interfere with our work here”. He gestured to the small window and the desert landscape spreading to a very far horizon.

A muscle twitched on Gabe’s temple but McCree didn’t lower his eyes. Hell, he’d left everything – what little he had at home, to be honest – to travel to the other corner of the world looking for some long lost treasure. It was like a fairytale – snippets of clues scraped from obscure sources, more legend than science; he’d supported Ana and Gabe’s attempts at impressing the scientific board at their college and volunteered to join them in this mission. He definitely was not going back home with a handful of pots and some ‘sorry we were wrong’s bullshit.

_No fuckin’ way._

He crossed his arms, but before he could balance himself on his heels Gabe’s hand snatched him by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward.

“You still think this is some kind of game, young man? Because it’s not”, he growled in his face; he shoved him back almost in Fareeha’s arms and hit the desk with his fist. “Weapon dealers. Trouble among bands turning to borderline guerrilla – I won’t risk your lives just out of stubbornness”.

Ana sighed and approached him, a slim dark hand resting on Gabe’s contracted forearm.

“That’s why we love working for you – _with_ you, Gabe. But you can’t expect us to accept such a failure light-heartedly”.

“It was supposed to be my Ph.D. thesis!” moaned Fareeha.

Gabe rubbed his eyes with the pad of his thumb and forefinger and breathed slowly out of his nose.

“I know. I’m sorry, girl, but you have enough material to put something together, and I’ll help you out – don’t worry”. He dropped his hand and looked at his team; hadn’t he been so furious McCree could have regretted being so hard to his boss. Gabriel Reyes was a good – if short tempered – man who cared deeply about his co-workers and loved his job to bits. Of course: archaeology didn’t make people rich, one needed passion to keep struggling in such a field, and Gabe sure didn’t lack fire.

Still, McCree couldn’t accept this ending.

“So yer tellin’ us to behave, pack up and leave. Just like that”.

“You think I like this? Damn, kid, this is my life and… and it sucks. But I value your safety over anything else; if it were just for me I’d throw those papers in the face of the board, then proceed to shove them up where the sun doesn’t shine and stay here. Fuck the rules, ok? But you”, and he pointed to the three of them, “you _matter_. As people, as researchers. As friends”.

“Oh, Gabe…” Ana circled his shoulders with her arms and squeezed him in a quick hug. “You can be an asshole, but you’re the good kind of asshole”. She ruffled his hair in an affectionate gesture and turned to her daughter. “Come on, love. Time to pack up”.

Fareeha rolled her eyes and followed her mother; not many could have stood to work with a family member, and Ana Amari’s were some big shoes to fit in, but her daughter was made of the same steel, not yet tempered by age and wisdom.

“Whatever. I’m still going to punch the Big Ones in the throat as soon as we land home”.

“You’ll not be alone in your task, my dear”, chuckled Ana, gesturing to follow her to the door. “Jesse?”

McCree waited. His knuckles creaked as he rolled his fingers in fists, eyes still locked with Gabe.

Going back to dust and paperwork. To cramped libraries and shards of plates, broken bricks and ‘this thing looks like a scribble or maybe not it’s too small to tell’. Back to boredom, tore away from his big chance at life.

“Jesse, go”, said Gabe in a somber voice. Oh, he was sorry – more than sorry, he was probably angrier than McCree himself, but there was no way to move him from his decision.

He pressed his hat on his thick locks and rolled back his shoulders, letting a smirk tilt his mouth. He then turned around and followed Ana, well aware of her concerned stare, of Gabe’s look of rage and disappointment.

Not in him. Not yet, at least.

 

It was late at night and McCree was sitting in his tent, alone but for the company of a full ashtray and the quiet buzzing of his laptop. The more hours rolled by, the steadier his decision got.

He could do this, on his own if necessary; he didn’t fear the desert surrounding him or the gangs of mercenaries raiding the country, he was capable, could take care of himself, and screw authorities.

Harut – that weird place where too many cultures clashed over the centuries - was his hunting field, a promised land that whispered him of secrets hidden in forgotten tombs and legends coming to life. Under his eyes flashed a detailed map of the area, with the square shape of the excavation site right beside a long list of GPS coordinates. McCree took a pencil from the cot he was sitting on and tapped the screen.

 _There_. Five miles North of where they’d been digging for the last months, down a canyon too steep to be approachable, not interesting enough for Reyes’ standards to waste time into. They hadn’t checked that spot yet and didn’t plan to, too focused on the main site and its random, dull relics – ‘Here’s something to work on, Jesse; we need data, we can’t go chase fantasies that may not even exist’. Gabe’s been patient at first, less so as months passed.

But deep in the bottom of his heart – or his brain, or whatever made his sense tingle anytime he considered their maps – McCree knew they were searching the wrong tombs. It was just a matter of time and Gabe was going to listen to his rants and move the excavations up North.

But shit happened, and they suddenly were out of time. Out of everything – luck, motivation, chances.

McCree bit the pencil and chewed it so hard his teeth sunk in the wooden stick.

Five miles. A ten minutes ride by jeep, quite the hike on foot, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was young, he was trained – Gabe didn’t quite approve when he’d taken to go armed to the working site but let him nonetheless – and they’d all be grateful for his stubbornness. Later.

He rolled the pencil with his tongue and looked down at the dusty ground. His bag was ready, the zip still open over a mess of crumpled clothing and gear.

Sure. He was strong and ready – and yet he was scared. The more he waited, the more doubts popped into his head; he knew what he was about to do was dangerous, he was sure Ana would yell at him and Fareeha would beat him for scaring her, and yet…

“Ah, you’re still awake”.

Gabe’s voice rolled in the darkness and startled him. McCree winced and looked at the tent’s door, one hand reaching under the cot to the familiar shape of his gun. He was not supposed to be so fast in his reactions, but months guarding his back against graverobbers and assorted scum made him reactive.

“Damn, Gabe, you scared me”, he admitted, relaxing back against the stretched fabric wall and closing his laptop.

Suddenly it was dark. Completely dark, as the last flicker of the green led on his computer stopped flashing. Gabe, still standing, fumbled with the lamp dangling from the ceiling and lit it up; in the yellow light his eyes were dark pools under thick brows, his beard wild and black. Then he sighed and sat down by McCree.

“How are you, kid?” he said in a sad voice. That tone alone was almost enough for McCree to lose his determination.

Gabriel Reyes was a friend, he was family, and McCree felt his heart shrink at the thought of disappointing him.

_But it’s for a greater good. We’ll make peace when this is done and he’ll have to thank me – this is prob’ly gonna kill the man on the spot, tho._

He took a deep breath and squirmed to reach his pocket; Gabe punched his arm and laughed in silence.

“You smoke too much”.

“But _moooom_!”

They both laughed quietly until Gabe fell silent again.

“Look, Jesse, I know it hurts. You more than anyone else – I know how much you believed in this project, how much of yourself you poured into it. I wish things were different, you know that?”

The affectionate tone in his words deepened McCree’s guilt and he had to look away.

“Yeah, sure. I’m just upset, y’know. Don’t mind me, it’s gonna be better soon”. His words scratched his throat as he forced himself to say them out loud. Gabe patted him on the shoulder and got to his feet, toeing the still open bag on the floor.

“I see you’re ready to leave. I’m glad to see you got over it”. The ruffling of McCree’s hair turned into a gentle slap on the back of his head. “Get some sleep, we’ll leave by sunrise”.

“Ok” was all McCree could add. After a moment Gabe turned and left, his steps a soft echo muffled by the sand.

It hurt, yes, but for all the wrong reasons. McCree hunched his shoulders and ran his hands over his face, anchoring himself to all the strength of will he could gather.

He sat like that for what looked like hours before bolting up with a shiver.

_Now or never._

He grabbed his laptop and shoved it into his bag, double-checking his list of equipment in his mind. Water – all he could carry, and he knew a few spots where to restock, and a copy of his maps; a GPS, ammos in a waterproof bag – he quickly retrieved his gun from under his bed and weighed it in his hand.

It was dangerous, that he knew very well, but he was not afraid.

Or so he had to keep on telling himself as he turned off the lamp and waited some more.

The camp was beyond quiet, even the air motionless. He peeked out of his tent and found all the other were equally dark.

Above him the infinite canopy of the night shone orange in the far horizon, where the lights of Harut danced against the darkness.

McCree took a deep breath and slung the bag across his shoulders, wincing at the clinking noise of its content. After a moment spent listening to the night to hear any sign of activity he huffed and left, heart thumping hard in his chest.

 

 

Five miles were nothing for someone as fit as him, but by the time he reached the secondary excavation site he was drenched in sweat and his legs felt wobbly. For the whole night – the longest he could remember – he zigzagged through the desert, avoiding every route he knew Ana or Gabe would have checked and taking a painstakingly long way up the hills. As the sun began to rise in the East he watched his back like countless times in the past hours.

They’d be looking for him, no doubt about that, and if he knew his comrades as well as he thought he did he was sure Ana was yelling in a fit of fury, Fareeha had already threatened to rip his balls off as soon as she caught him and Gabe had left dents in the walls of his container, punching the metal sheet in a shocked silence.

Nevermind. They were going to leave and eventually he’d catch up with them after his task was done.

He stopped by the brink of the cliff and looked down: a good sixty feet free fall into what looked more like a creek than an actual river, all protruding rocks and brownish tumultuous waters. McCree smirked; the sweat beading on his neck was more due to the rising heat of the day than the actual perspective of climbing down the reddish rocks, but he knew it was going to be worth it.

He pulled the straps of his backpack and tightened it around his waist and chest, then searched the area for a good place for his descent. At his belt the loops of the climbing rope suddenly felt heavier, more so when he unrolled it and secured it around a boulder. He tugged at it a couple of times, fingers shaking faintly around the slippery texture, and looked down.

_There you go, McCree: you can do it._

It was quite the jump.

He checked the harness again and again, rolling his shoulders to make sure nothing would slip, leading him to a quick and untimely death, and nodded to himself. He walked backwards keeping his eyes on the bare landscape in front of him until his heels found nothing but empty air, and then some more.

By the time the rope started tensing above him all his muscles were aching already. Climbing down the warming rocks was turning his fingers and palms into a burning mess, and all the straps and buckles across his torso were digging into his flesh.

Panting, the hat tracing a sweaty line on his forehead, McCree scanned the environment. In the bright morning light the rocky wall was slashed with crevices, but none looked anything like a cave or a den. McCree ran his forearm on his damp, reddened face and looked up. The roaring of the creek was louder as he descended, but he was determined not to mind it; he shot a quick glance upwards, following the path of the tensed rope, but found no one peeking at him from above.

One more step to the side.

Everything was going just fine.

Then the rocks crumbled under his toes.

“Oh fuck”. He stumbled to gain some balance, one hand gripping the rope, the other blindly clawing at the rocks. He swung sideways and lost his only hold.

Fear washed over him as he flew into the air. He wanted to scream – needed to, for all the use it was – but every particle of his body and brain focused at once on the rope. He grasped it, ignoring the burns on his palms, the blisters forming and exploding as the coarse fibers scratched his skin.

Ten feet of free fall and then McCree – arms growling in the attempt to hold himself up – bounced against the wall; his shoulder hit the rocks and all air left his lungs, the harness cutting through his thighs and armpits. Breathless, vision blurring after a second and a third impact, McCree whined and extended one arm until his bruised fingers found a jutting stone he could get hold to.

Still. He was not falling anymore, he was alive and the thundering sound filling his head was nothing but the blood pumping faster after the shock, with an undertone of flowing water dozens of feet below him.

McCree grunted and opened his eyes; he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Slowly he came back to himself: the rope was a straight line disappearing up to the sky, his mouth tasted like iron and he spat a mouthful of blood from a cut on his inner cheek, and besides a blinding pain in his strained muscles and joints he was very much alive.

Gabe’s voice boomed in his memory, yelling a stream of furious insults in a concerned, desperate tone.

_“You little shit – you son of a bitch, you could’ve died! Why did you have to go? Are you such an idiot you decided you were too cool to listen to my warnings? Because – guess what – you’re not!”_

His ragged breath faded into a panting laughter. That sounded exactly like something Gabe could have told him in such a situation.

“Ok dude, yer safe and only need somewhere to land”, but his voice cracked. Fuck, it was a miracle he hadn’t wet his pants. He took a deep breath that sent a shock of pain through his bones; squeezing his eyes and gritting his teeth he tried to brace himself to the rocks with his feet and managed to ease some tension in his shoulder. In doing so, though, his eyes wandered down the canyon gaping at his feet, with the yellowish waters bubbling between the rapids.

Sweat froze down his back.

“How’s it in the movies? Don’t look down? Well, they’ve got a point”, he quivered. The hairs on the back of his arms were standing in a wild goosebump and he quickly scanned the area.

There it was. A ridiculously narrow step of stone, maybe near enough to reach it with his toes, opened on what looked like some kind of small indenture. Whatever, it was a place with a horizontal floor where to get some rest before going back to his climbing, hoping this time it was not going to turn into another fall.

McCree held himself to the rock and wrapped his wrist around the rope, for what its tension allowed him.

Alright. One – and he bent his knees – two – a tentative rocking to his left – and _three_.

He’d been right. The foothold was just one step away and he managed to land his boot in an acceptably balanced position. No more risk of death for the moment, but after a long series of awkward movements he was glad no one was there to witness both his feet got on the rock ledge.

What opened in front of him was actually a cave, pitch black and whispering a cold breeze on his heated face, but all mattered was that it was roomy enough for him to sit down without the threat of the precipice.

He crawled on all fours and retrieved some rope; his arms and legs felt weak, his hands burned like hell and his head was light from the adrenaline rush. Dear god, he _loved_ this. With a muffled laughter he rolled on his back and sprawled his limbs, letting his breath return to a normal pace.

So Gabe’s caution about this site was not so out of place; still, now he was here and was determined to make the most out of his escape. He sat up and was glad to see his hands had stopped shaking when he searched his pockets for a cigarette.

He chuckled to himself as he pressed the filter between his lips – this was for sure an adventure if he’d ever known one – but when the lighter clicked in front of his nose he winced in the sudden blaze.

As the tobacco caught fire and he inhaled some smoke the clear impression of a tall ceiling and gaping depths flashed in his mind. He almost dropped his cigarette, sticking to his lower lip and nearly scorching his beard.

Shit. That was something more than he’d expected. He recollected himself with a shiver and quickly undid his harness; he slung his backpack over one shoulder, cursed and snapped the straps open to rummage in search for his torchlight.

When he finally got it and lit it up he squinted at the light.

“Woah…”

The high ceiling disappeared into the darkness, and when he pointed his light upwards he saw a constellation of stalactites pointing down at him. He just stared for a long moment, smoking his cigarette in silence and examining every corner of the narrow space in front of him. The corridor disappeared after a sharp turn to the left, and no way such a structure was of natural origins. Without further thoughts he walked forward, the creaking of his soles on the floor the only sound in the cave.

Left and then right and then left again, in a serpentine pattern that ignited McCree’s excitement. Whatever that place was, it was something new that promised more marvels to come. He ran his free hand on the cool, slightly damp walls – they were unusually smooth, with the faint remains of straight lines where an ancient stonecutter had left the marks of his work.

“This is some good shit”, he whispered to himself, staring wide-eyed at the path sinking deeper in the mountain’s side. A shiver of pure pleasure and expectation ran down his spine; it was easy to get lost in that rabbit hole, but he was sure that some Wonderland was waiting for him at the end of the tunnel.

Well, maybe not Wonderland, since all he came across was a fork. He turned left again and the path grew clearer – a secondary entrance, jutting some twenty feet over a different turn of the creek. Undaunted he turned back and took the second route.

It was darker and colder and even more narrow, but as he proceeded the walls started to sport some unexpected markings under his fingertips. He stopped and pointed the torchlight.

“Bloody hell look at that!” he boomed. He took the torch between his teeth and splayed his hands on the stones – fuck, those were definitely inscriptions! He ran an unsteady fingertip on the edge of a triangular shape, tears choking him at the discovery: that was different from any kind of writing he’d ever seen. It was new, it was great and it was _his_.

His knees gave way and he fell seated, his backpack bumping against his back. The whole wall – he could just see some square feet of it, but it extended far away into the darkness – was covered in signs.

A silent sob shook his chest. He was fucking right, and yet he’d wished his teammates would have been with him in this moment. He could imagine Ana pressing her nose to the markings and Fareeha jumping up and down, and even Gabe squeezing him into a bone breaking hug.

_We’ll have time for that._

He rubbed a fist over his eyes and stood up. He was still trembling from excitement but did his best to stay calm; if there were inscriptions maybe there was more farther on. All for him to discover.

And Gabe might tease him with the Indiana Jones stuff, but damn, _this_ – this moment, this discovery, the thrill of touching something ancient and forgotten – was worth _everything_.

Still a bit unsteady on his feet he gently caressed the carvings again and proceeded down the corridor. A couple of turns, the ground smoother as he travelled in the belly of the mountain. More side paths – he ignored them all, focused on following the decorated wall. He barely dared to breathe and he was feeling kind of dizzy from the unrelenting excitement of the moment, something that got even worse when the corridor opened up into a chamber.

A vault.

“No fuckin’ way!” he yelled. He dropped the torchlight and ran his hands in his hair, almost taking his hat away.

The pale light splintered in shards of gold and silver on a pile of treasures. Not a very scientific term, true, but his mind couldn’t process otherwise what he was staring at. Tears swelled in his eyes and he swayed, hitting the wall with his shoulder.

Under a thick layer of dust a collection of boxes and tablets and jewels – McCree spotted a green necklace dangling from a vase, a tiny cat statuette carved in black stone – shone faintly in the shadows. He fell to his knees and fumbled to retrieve his torchlight, a shocked grin parting his face. For what he could see there were dozens of items in a style he’d never seen before, and on the wall and over a secondary access to the vault countless birds painted in blue and gold blinked at him.

That art fell somewhere between Egyptian paintings and something Babylonian – all that deep blue reminded him of the doors he’d seen in Berlin, with their lions and lapis lazuli tiles – but he was enraptured by the small objects in front of him. He crawled forward, scratching the torch on the floor, and closed his eyes. The air smelled stale, dusty and damp, the most beautiful scent he’d ever experienced. It was like bathing in time – he was the first to smell that mixture in God knew how many centuries, and it felt so intimate he couldn’t hold back a shiver.

He blindly reached forward until his fingertips touched something. Metal, smooth and cold, and then a thin chain of some kind, and again a row of sharp points – McCree opened his eyes again, his hand resting on what looked like an old comb, the ivory almost alive under his skin.

A prayer to the gods of archaeology – in his mind they all looked like Sean Connery – alright, maybe Gabe was kind of correct about his Indiana Jones thing – rose to his lips.

_Thank you for giving me the strength to come here. Thank y’all for granting me good luck and competent team mates. Please forgive me if anything I’ll do turns out to be blasphemy or anythin’ like that._

He blew on the dirty surface and the dust rising in soft clouds tickled his nose. He sneezed loudly and coughed, but he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. All he wanted was to sink his hands and arms in the glimmering pile, checking every piece and letting tears flow on his cheeks for the marvels he’d been gifted with.

Gabe’s face burst in his memory, that sassy grin of his ruffling his beard and his eyebrows high under a shock of black curls.

_Really, kid? Haven’t I taught you anything?_

McCree sat on his heels and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Of course he couldn’t just play with archaeological finds, it would have been childish and dangerous for the integrity of his discover. For the time of an eye blink he considered turning his phone on and calling Gabe, not to reassure him – for all he was sure his boss was beyond his furious stage and deep down in the worried one – but to share the moment.

Why not? Maybe it would help reopening their program. He could stand Gabe’s rage with no problem, and this is something he needed to show him as soon as possible. He was actually about to search his backpack but his eyes lingered on the treasure. He wanted to touch it again – and again, to learn every texture, to imagine the long-lost hands that had used these same items so many centuries ago.

After all he deserved to treat himself, so he ran his fingers on the golden handle of a vase? A lamp?

He was almost too concentrated and in awe to realize it, but his brain finally got track of something wrong.

He missed the first one, but then he heard it: a soft sound in the distance. McCree froze and raised his head, quickly shielding the light in his palm.

The sound echoed again in the cave – voices. Footsteps, and they were near. They were many.

_Oh shit._

The hope to see Gabe and Ana jump from the secondary entrance lived the time of a breath and disappeared when a yellow dancing light appeared in the depths of the corridor.

The noises were loud, the shadows dancing on the walls showed a good six or seven people approaching, and McCree bit his tongue until he tasted blood when he made out the shape of a rifle.

Oh, sure, he had a gun, and his youth days in a street gang taught him how to use it; but his more recent years under Gabe’s wing had made him soft, and his gun was now somewhere in his backpack, completely useless.

Not that it would have made him any good shooting so many people more heavily armed than him.

Panic clenched his throat. They were almost there, he couldn’t fight, he was alone – and yet he still had a chance. He jumped on his feet, threw caution and Gabe’s warning on how to handle relics away and grabbed a handful of random objects. The clinking sound resonated in the cave and the footsteps stopped for a second before resuming, together with a roaring of curses in different languages, in a hurried run.

McCree forgot common sense and bolted to his feet, jewels and pots precariously caught in his fists, the torchlight abandoned on the floor.

Before he could turn around he saw them – a group of figures in military attire, and upfront a tall man, with short black hair.

“Take him!” he yelled at him. McCree kicked the torch away, pointing its light in the face of the strangers, and ran.

Now he was scared for real. He was prepared for environmental challenges and stealth, but being trapped with an armed band of what looked like mercenaries was out of his league. He let some of his loot fall from his grip and didn’t stop to check it out, grabbing all he could and touching the walls with his fingers.

They were following him, there was no escape, their voices booming behind him in the dark. He sprinted blindly, scratching his arm on the walls and stumbling too often for his own safety. Left, right – he was lost, and the unwanted thought of dying forgotten in that damned mountain was even worse than his fear of falling down the precipice or getting shot in the back.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, cold and sticky, and when the path took an abrupt turn he hit the rocks. White sparkles burst in the darkness and his tongue filled again with the sweet taste of blood; head spinning, ears ringing, he clung to the unseen items in his hands – something hard and heavy, oddly warm at the touch – and resumed his escape, ignoring the soft, beastly sound falling from his broken lips.

His mind felt blank, everything in his being focused on the primal instinct of the trapped animal madly looking for a way out. A gunshot exploded, chapping the wall at his left just some five feet behind him.

_I don’t want to die._

The words formed and replicated endlessly in his mind. Another sharp rock edge scratched his shoulder – the fork! He knew where he was, more or less, but it wasn’t very helpful, considering how the bobbing lights from his pursuers were getting closer and closer.

 _Just keep runnin’. If you stop and think yer dead_.

And so he did. Another explosion, so near his right ear started to buzz, and he sped up.

Maybe it was the shock, maybe he was just going insane from sheer terror, but he started to see the light. He wished oh so much it was not the ‘you’re dying, follow the light to get to the other side’ kind of light, but he ran toward it nonetheless.

“No no no _NO_!” he yelled. Warmer air, a yellow blaze – and he stopped just in time to horrify at the canyon opening at his feet. His toes were standing on empty air, a cascade of debris falling down the cliff after his sudden braking.

He thought he’d descended some fifty feet at least from the brink, but what was left of the fall was still impressive. And it was an understatement.

“Give it back!” shouted someone at his back. They were coming, and soon they’d have enough light to aim at him properly.

McCree panted harshly and looked at his hands. He’d lost almost everything, except for a couple of trinkets and a heavy, dirty lamp.

The fall. The armed man. The fall – with that swollen creek and its sharp rocks. The armed man – and their rifles.

They shot him again and he winced when the bullet hit the rocks inches from his heels.

“Well, Geronimo then”, he muttered, and before his synapsis connected enough to make him realize it was an awfully bad idea he pressed his hat on his head, cradled the lamp to his chest and leaped.

The wind catching in his hair and almost taking his hat away was sharp, roaring so loud it covered his own cry of terror but not the shooting from above. All McCree could do was scream and kick the air; a silver chain slipped from his fingers and he didn’t even try to catch it, too busy contemplating the impending perspective of a very gore death.

It lasted a bunch of seconds or maybe forever, but eventually the world exploded in a bomb of water.

McCree’s lung filled and reality turned upside down as he rolled in the stream, crashing against rocks and losing his wits with every breath he couldn’t take. Water ran in his mouth and nose, his eyes burned when he tried and failed to keep them open – everything was white foam and muddy waves, heavy shadows shifting in front of his closed lids. He did a desperate attempt at swimming, whirling his legs in the stream and kicking something hard and sharp that dug into his shin and set his bones on fire.

He needed air, that precious, wonderful air just inches from his head, where the sun shone above the surface of water. The lamp in his hands seemed hot, a clear sign that his senses were surrendering to the emergency; his head was empty, his lungs burned and he slowly stopped fighting.

It was not so bad – no more struggle, just the river washing him away from the pain in his body and the fear of death. He was doomed and it was ok.

He clung to the warm metal in his fingers and let everything go, his body going limp in the roar of the creek and his mind disconnecting from his flesh. Forever.

… or so he thought.

What seemed like hours later a compilation of unpleasant sensations reached his consciousness. He floated to the surface of the blissful limbo he’d fallen into just to realize he was hot to the point his neck felt on fire. Something was poking at his chest and side, and it was quite painful.

Not as painful as the first breath he dared to take. His ribcage expanded and every muscle, every bone flashed an electric shock of suffering, enough to wake him for good.

McCree panted – there was mud in his mouth, and when he turned to the side a black shape took flight from his torso. He rolled on the side and coughed, letting a stream of dirty water drip from his lips an agonizing mouthful at a time.

In the end, when the veins on his neck and temples felt about to explode, he managed to breathe for good. Much needed oxygen blessed his throat and he shivered, taking in all the air he could and shaking wildly.

It took him forever but eventually his eyes slit open. The blaze of sunlight dazzled him, and when he cautiously stretched his legs an outraged screech pierced his ears.

One thing at a time. First: a quick check up. He could move his feet and bend his knees, despite the blade of pain cutting through his shin; he lifted his hands and held them close to his eyes – he still had all his fingers, and that too were good news. Less so was the pair of crows jumping at the corner of his field of view, clearly disappointed in him not being dead enough for a feast.

“Fuck off, ye shitty beasts”, he croaked, his voice broken. He lightly drew his palms down his body, ignoring the burn of blisters and scratches on his skin. His clothes were almost dry – how long had he been lying wherever he was? He sat up, ignoring how his head throbbed, and perched himself on his hands. Shielding his eyes from the unrelenting sun he took a tentative look around.

The river was calmer in this part of the canyon, but he had no idea where he’d ended up. No more steep rocky walls around him, just hills peppered with greenish vegetation and a couple of dying trees around a ridiculously small bay. Anyway it was a good thing – there was no trace of his pursuers, and him being still alive was a good improvement from his latest moment before the black out.

With a sigh of relief McCree saw the lump of his backpack on the shore; one of the straps was still clasped to his waist, but right now he didn’t have the strength to pull his gear out of the water. To his surprise his hat was there too, crushed behind a rock and almost intact but for some dents on its brim.

He extended an arm and grabbed it. It was a small, silly thing but it made him feel like himself again. When he moved the hat, though, a glimmer of gold caught his eye.

The lamp. A shaky laughter fell from his mouth. He did it – he had proof of his discovery. And no matter if his hands hurt, no matter the long gash – red and black under the torn fabric of his pants – that traced his leg: _he fucking did it_.

Right now he could have used a smoke, but the odds of his cigarettes not being a damp mess were extremely low; he ran a hand on the sunburnt back of his neck and got on his knees, leaning forward and finally getting a grip on the metal handle of the lamp.

The effort was almost too much for his precarious conditions and he fell heavily on his side.

A grin parted his lips as he took a closer look at his own treasure. It was nothing special, really, just your average oil lamp with a long beak and a curled handle. But there was more – or was it just his eyesight playing him tricks? He squinted and brought the lamp to his nose; here they were, inscriptions in the very same style as those he’d seen in the cave. They were covered in mud but he could see them, and they confirmed him risking his life three times in a row for three different reasons was not in vain.

Gabe would have loved this. He ran his thumb on the mud-caked smooth surface, taking some of the dirt away.

It was not enough. He sat, legs crossed and hat tilted on his forehead, and rolled the hem of his black t-shirt in his fist, wiping with more intention.

For a split second he was satisfied with himself; the metal shone bright after his rubbing and now he could see more clearly the markings, tiny lines and points that he couldn’t read – yet.

Then the lamp started to shake in his hands. McCree blinked, exhaustion shifting back to fear as his grip on the round shape tightened.

“What the hell…”

The shaking turned to a violent vibration that made McCree’s teeth chatter as he tried to hold the lamp still.

“This is not ok. This is the least ok things ever”, he whimpered, but really, it was nothing so strange. At least, compared to the swirls of dark blue smoke that slowly curled around him.

At this – after falling twice down a precipice, barely escaping a shooting and very nearly drowning in a river – McCree lost what was left of his composure.

He yelled at the top of his lungs, scaring the two crows still perched on the rocks behind him.

 

 


	2. Stars, blue smoke and regrets

 

>   
>    
>  “How long are you going to punish yourself, brother?”
> 
> “How many times are you going to ask?"
> 
> The space between spaces quivered with a tired sigh over the invisible barrier that kept him from his homeland – a homeland he chose to exile himself from for all eternity.
> 
> “Until you start to believe me when I say I have forgiven you. Please, come home”.
> 
> Something in his being tensed; had he been in his physical form he’d have clenched his fists, shooting his younger brother a sharp look. Genji just didn’t understand.  
>   
>  “I won’t. I can’t – it’s not home anymore, and I’m not done with my penance yet".  
>   
>  “It’s been over ten thousand years, Hanzo”.
> 
> He could almost feel his brother’s bright eyes inspect his face, a green thread infiltrating the blue emptiness of his prison.
> 
> “Not enough”.
> 
> Hanzo would have closed his eyes. Of course Genji couldn’t reach him in here, in the spiritual and physical cell he’d chosen from himself. The worst kind of punishment for an Ifrit, one he willingly inflicted upon himself to make amends for his crimes.  
>   
>  He almost killed his brother – his only family, a bond forged when the world was young and only spirits wandered the infinities of the universe. Out of rage, out of madness: he’d been foolish enough to believe the poison the Marids poured into his ears. Words dripping honey and lies that spoke about envy and how his brother – with his passion for the newborn mankind – was a dishonour for their own kin.  
>  He’d listened and tried to ignore them, but deceit had finally rooted in his heart.  
>  And he’d attacked Genji, regretting his decision the moment his magic tore his brother’s immortal body apart, nearly to the point of no return.
> 
> “You’ve suffered enough and I miss you. They… they did things to you, and for too long. Can’t you just..."
> 
> “No”.
> 
> The core of his soul shook with fury and suffering, sending sparkles in the void.
> 
> Ten thousand years were very little compared to the endless existence of an Ifrit – they knew death but could never experience it, simply listening to the tales of those ascending to their plane of reality after their time on Earth was due.
> 
> Ten thousand years were _nothing_ in the face of the atrocity he’d committed. And if Genji was right – if the things he had to endure one master after the other, pushing disgust and outrage at the bottom of his being, were indeed cruel to say the least – he’d deserved them all.
> 
> Hanzo turned his mind from the greenish hue filtrating through the invisible walls of his cage.
> 
> “Leave me. I’m not worthy of your attention".
> 
> “Hanzo..."
> 
> “Genji, go. Now".
> 
> Everything went silent and still, and eventually Hanzo felt the presence of his brother fade in the distance.
> 
> He was alone. It was alright.
> 
> Hanzo wrapped himself in shapeless coils, his blue glow dulling when the turmoil his brother always caused him subsided.
> 
> He was guilty and he deserved no forgiveness. Better be alone than living his sins over and over again.
> 
> His emotions throbbed more and more quietly, until a deep slumber drenched him and took away memories and regret.  
>  He floated away into unconsciousness, tired of waiting or expecting anything. Time stretched and lost meaning.  
>   
>  The first faraway rumbling of thunder startled him. He woke at once, all his many senses alert and a blade of pure fear piercing through his soul.
> 
> _No. Not again._
> 
> It happened once more, longer and harder this time – Hanzo expanded his ethereal form to anchor himself to his cage; he was too old and experienced to hope it would be any use, but not enough to ban horror. He could almost feel the cuffs tighten around his wrists, the collar choke him. Memories and terror twisted in his mind and he forced himself to concentrate on himself.
> 
> _You endured it countless times, you can do that again. It’s just a sparkle in the blaze of eternity, it won’t destroy you._
> 
> A white gash of light appeared somewhere above him and the vibration turned into a humming, an eerie melody calling him. Demanding.
> 
> Hanzo felt a supernatural force pull him forward, tearing him from the safe borders of his jail with a strength he didn’t even try to resist. He knew it would have been in vain.
> 
> The dulled sensations of his spiritual plan were quickly replaced by the burn of sunlight and the chaos of too many noises – running water, crows cawing, and most of all a deafening scream ripped the veils coiling around his body.
> 
> The world was blue beyond the smoke that shrouded him. Tall shadows towered around him, the sky a blazing expanse that made his eyes water, and without realizing it Hanzo shielded his face with one hand.
> 
> Ah, there it was. Long fingers and pale skin, gold glimmering on every ring and chain adorning his human form – a shining metal band clutched around his wrist.
> 
> Slowly the overwhelming sensations relented – all but _one_.
> 
> That piercing scream wouldn’t stop. Hanzo waved his hand in front of his nose and tucked a long, bluish-black lock behind his ear. He blinked and held his head high, letting his favourite look of noble annoyance descend on his face.
> 
> It didn’t last long. Ages of imprisonment as the fabled ‘genie in a lamp’ (and heavens knew how much he hated that narrative) had made him cold and defiant, but a pang of perplexity shot through his head nonetheless.  
>  Sure his new master couldn’t be the sunburnt, shaggy-looking and screaming figure sitting with his back to the rocks in front of him. He sighed and closed his eyes, summoning his most imposing voice and reciting the same old litany.
> 
> “You have called upon me from the depths of space and time and I answered your command, mortal".
> 
> The yelling continued. Hanzo snorted through his nose and spoke again.
> 
> “For your bravery and good luck you are granted three – no, really, this is getting ridiculous”.
> 
> He squinted and checked their surroundings. They were alone, and the screaming man was the one holding the lamp.  
>  It’s going to be worse than usual, this time.  
>   
>  There was a pause in the noise and Hanzo grunted; as he opened his mouth to speak again, though, the screaming resumed, not less loud, maybe hoarser.
> 
> He couldn’t believe it. He’d had dozens of masters and this was the first time he witnessed such a reaction – but, to be completely honest, it was the first time he saw someone dressed like that, with no flowing tunics or colourful silks. Genji would have loved this.
> 
> He tried to focus on the features of the man but it was hard to notice anything with such a clamor.
> 
> For a second he considered turning into a more dreadful form to shut the stranger up out of mere fear, but that mortal had quite the lungs and shock seemed to make him only more vocal. Hanzo massaged his temples with two fingers and then, letting his arms fall to his sides, shot the man a fiery look.
> 
> “Would you _shut your mouth_ for a moment?” he snapped, louder than he’d intended.
> 
> It worked. The stranger’s mouth clicked close and Hanzo sighed in relief.
> 
> “Better. Now that you’re not behaving like some sort of hysterical baboon we can… wait. What are you doing?"
> 
> The man was on all fours, rummaging inside a half ripped bag; when he stood again – or, to be more correct, when he crawled on his knees – Hanzo saw him pointing something at him. He recalled memories of something fainter than dreams, the only company in his centuries of loneliness, and realized it was some kind of weapon.
> 
> He couldn’t but roll his eyes and didn’t move from his floating position.
> 
> “Please don’t”, he said in a weary voice, his annoyance heavy in every word. “Don’t embarrass yourself like that”.
> 
> The mortal ignored his warning and shot. Hanzo had to acknowledge him some degree of guts and skill, because despite the sweat on his forehead and his wide eyes his hands didn’t shake and the two bullets could have found their target with astounding precision.
> 
> One to the center of his chest – and this Hanzo simply ignored, letting it pass through his body in a whirlwind of blue smoke – and the second straight to his forehead. The Ifrit calmly moved two fingers and the bullet stopped mid-air, a useless small metal thing that fell to the muddy shore with no sound.
> 
> “See? I told you not to attack me, and now you’ve made a fool of yourself. I hope you’re happy, mortal”. He crossed his arms and a small shiver reminded him that he had a solid body now, invulnerable to common weapons as it was. The metal cuffs brushed against the jewels adorning his torso and the gold and blue pattern of constellations and arcane symbols on his skin – from his wrist up to his shoulder – glimmered in the sun.
> 
> The man dropped his gun and stared at him with huge eyes the colour of old amber. He had a short beard, nothing like the luxurious ones Hanzo’d seen in his past masters, little more than stubble along his jaw and at the corners of a mouth still gaping open.
> 
> “What… what are you?” He stuttered, broad shoulders slumping forward.
> 
> Hanzo tilted his head sideways and looked at him with nothing but disdain.
> 
> “I was trying to tell you, but no, you were too busy yelling in my face and thinking you could kill me. By the stars, you mortals get more stupid with every generation..."
> 
> “You… can speak. You speak my language..."
> 
> “Of course I do, I don’t think there’s a single idiom I can’t speak. Who do you think I am, some kind of uncultured swine?"
> 
> The man ran his palms on his face and clasped them on his mouth.
> 
> “I’ll be damned if I know what you are”, he muttered, and Hanzo bared his teeth.
> 
> “ _Who_ , not what. It’s the second time you offend me and I won’t tolerate a third one”.
> 
> “I hit my head on the rocks, that’s it”, said the mortal, touching his head and then looking at his fingers. “I’m not bleedin’ but maybe it’s internal an’ I’m hallucinatin’ and I’ll die here and…”
> 
> Hanzo covered his face with a hand and grunted.
> 
> “The more centuries pass the less I understand Genji’s interest in humanity. Ages aren’t treating you kindly, mortal, I sure..."
> 
> “No, no, wait there, Concussion, you can’t just expect me to…”
> 
> “What did you call me?”
> 
> Hanzo snapped his head up and snarled.  
>    
> The mortal simply shook his head and fell back on his heels, thick arms slumped in his lap.
> 
> “Concussion. Yer clearly the product of a severe head trauma, and soon I’ll go lethargic and fall asleep never to wake up again".
> 
> “Why… why would you say that?”
> 
> Beneath his usual set of dread and disappointment for another round of his punishment, Hanzo felt sincere curiosity. Now that he wasn’t screaming or trying to kill him anymore the mortal looked almost interesting – young, tall and a bit ragged, but funny to look at.
> 
> “I mean, look at yerself, Concussion! You – you’ve got no legs, just blue glittery smoke!"
> 
> Hanzo blinked and his eyebrows arched.
> 
> “Oh, so that’s the problem! Apologies, master, I didn’t think it could bother you”.
> 
> He didn’t even need to concentrate properly; the smoke condensed and with a soft pop two long legs clad in midnight blue and dark silver silk sprouted from his torso. Hanzo balanced himself on the ground, secretly enjoying the never forgotten sensation of the warm sand under his bare feet and not resisting the instinct of lightly wiggling his toes into it. He looked up at the stranger from behind the fall of his hair and smirked.
> 
> “Better?"
> 
> “Those are some… really nice legs, ok, but… but… you came out of a fuckin’ lamp, Concu-"
> 
> “Don’t call me that _ever_ again, master. My name is Hanzo – or that’s how it sounds in your (barbaric and gross) language".
> 
> “And you stop callin’ me master. It’s weird. I’m no one’s master and…”
> 
> “I can’t but call you so, since I don’t know your name, human”.
> 
> “It’s McCree. Jesse, Jesse McCree, alright? And this is madness".
> 
> “Good, mortal. As I was trying to explain, you indeed are my master now: you found the lamp”, and he gestured to the relic sitting between Jesse’s knees, “and rubbed it. You called upon me and here I am, ready to obey your orders".
> 
> His new master pulled his thick brown hair and huffed a shocked laughter.
> 
> “No way. There must be some rational explanation to this, and since I took no drugs this time and my skull seems all in one piece I gotta think of something else. Like – yer one of those thugs who tried to catch me up in the cave, ain’t you?”
> 
> Hanzo shrugged and grimaced.
> 
> “I’m no thug – I’m an Ifrit, a genie in your culture, and you have three wishes. If my presence is such a nuisance to you just tell me what you want and let me go back to my prison".
> 
> “No no no, darlin’, not so fast”. McCree rubbed a fist on his lips and stood up, steadying himself to the rocks; he gritted his teeth as he placed his left foot on the ground and Hanzo noticed his pants were ripped over a bruised gash. “Good thing I ain’t broken some bone, but that shit hurts”, said McCree. He took one limping step forward and put his gun back at his belt, opening his arms. “You can’t expect your random 21st century guy to simply accept something like this, ‘kay? I’ve had a rough day, almost died three times and now I wake up after a God knows how many miles long swim in a river to find a lovely creature that insists he’s some kind of spirit or whatever..."
> 
> “You’re making progresses, you’ve stopped talking to me as if I was not a person at least”, grumbled Hanzo.
> 
> “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, honey, and especially about the shooting part, but I was kinda shocked. Can you blame me?”
> 
> “Well I could, yes, because in the thousands of years I’ve spent in this imprisonment you’re the first one who doesn’t welcome me with joy or awe!"
> 
> “But yer not even real!”
> 
> At this Hanzo rolled his eyes and extended an arm. His slender fingers pinched McCree’s arm – a muscular, hard arm that squirmed under his touch.
> 
> “Ouch!” McCree backed away with a look of outrage in his dark eyes. “I didn’t deserve that!... well, ok, maybe I did but..."
> 
> “I _am_ real. As real as you, but in a different way. Unfortunately, you seem to be too dumb to understand such finesse".
> 
> “Hey, hey, darlin’ – Hanzo, right? I’m not dumb. I’m an archaeologist, if you even know what that means, and a pretty good one too. I studied".
> 
> “Not enough, it seems, if you don’t even know what I’m talking about!”
> 
> “But of course I know!” McCree rubbed his arm where Hanzo’d pinched him. “I’ve read books and watched cartoons, but everyone knows the genie stuff is just fairytales and nothin’ more!”
> 
> Hanzo stomped his feet on the ground, torn between anger and disbelief.
> 
> “I’m not a fairytale! I’m here and I’m not going to waste a single moment more if you’re not willing to listen to me!” He relaxed and his legs melted back in a blue cloud. “If you need me you know how to find me. Until then, please don’t bother me. _Master_ ”.
> 
> He turned his back to McCree and floated back into his lamp.
> 
> It was good to be back in his safe space, with no sun blinding him and, most of all, no silly mortal to torment him.
> 
> His peace lasted the time of a thought. The roaring sensation was back and Hanzo huffed in his mind; there came the white light and the pulling sensation again, and in seconds he was back on the shore.
> 
> “Now listen to me, Hanzo”.
> 
> McCree took a step toward him, and Hanzo felt the urge to retreat. The man was taller than him, probably taller than any mortal he’d ever met, and now on his head was a ridiculous leather hat like he’d never seen before. Something had hardened in his eyes.
> 
> “You can’t just appear in a puff of smoke, drop the bomb ‘hey hello guess what yer Aladdin or something bye’ and then leave. Give a man some time to process the information, ok?”  
>    
> “So I take you have decided what you want to ask me?” Hanzo didn’t form completely, floating from his waist down in a sparkling cloud.  
>    
> “Legs please. It freaks me out”, moaned McCree, and Hanzo rolled his eyes again.  
>    
> “Here you go, master, I…”  
>    
> “Come on, I told you already, don’t call me master. Not out of the bedroom at least”.  
>   
> This was some kind of reference Hanzo didn’t quite get, but McCree chuckled and sat back, patting the sand at his side.  
>    
> “Sit with me and tell me everything. An’ sorry if I yelled at you before. I’m usually more charming, y’know…”  
>    
> “I doubt it”, but he sat near him nonetheless. “Seriously, mortal, it’s the first time you experience the proximity of an Ifrit?”  
>    
> “Bloody hell if it is! Are you… I mean, can I…” and he pointed at his arm. Hanzo let out a disgruntled noise from the bottom of his throat and offered him his tattooed arm.  
>    
> McCree put his hand on the painted skin. His fingers were warm, much more than Hanzo’s flesh, and there was no hint of lust in his touch. It was shaking, yes, but somewhat professional.  
>    
> “I shit you not, this is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen – and this very morning I found a buried treasure after falling some fifty feet down a cliff”, he murmured tracing a constellation with the tip of his index. “This is Orion, isn’t it? And the Hydra. They… fuck, they _sparkle_!”  
>    
>  “They are stars, what did you expect?”  
>    
> McCree whistled softly and a smile trembled on his lips, brightening his face. Now that he could look at him closer Hanzo realized he was young, yes, but also not too bad to look at.  
>    
> As if it mattered. You know what he’ll ask of you – there’ve been princes among your previous masters, so handsome the sky may have wept in envy, and they were beasts nonetheless.  
>    
> Something darkened in the depths of his soul and he snatched his arm from McCree’s touch.  
>    
> “Are you done with your examination? I’d like to discuss the wishes part”.  
>    
> “I’m not even remotely done, honey! But sorry for being handsy, right?” McCree ran a hand on the back of his neck and chuckled. “I’m still convinced there’s some reasonable explanation behind this all but I’m currently too much in shock to use my lil’ brain at its max potential so… yeah, fine, let’s go to the wishes part, whatever it is”.  
>    
> Hanzo folded his legs under his body and held up three fingers.  
>    
> “You know the story, I reckon. Three wishes to change your life – but beware what you ask, for you shall get it”.  
>    
> “Ok, ok, I got this. Hell, I’d got this since I was eight, prob’ly. So no askin’ for more wishes, right?”  
>    
> At this Hanzo frowned.  
>    
> “No, of course you can’t use a wish to ask for more. There are rules and you can’t just bend them at your own will, but…”  
>    
> “… and no makin’ people fall in love”.  
>    
> “So desperate?” Hanzo grinned and cocked an eyebrow, but McCree barked a quick and loud laughter.  
>    
> “Oh shit, no, I was just resorting to what little genie lore I know! That, no killing and no resurrecting the dead, correct?”  
>    
> Hanzo blinked and twisted a long black lock around his fingers,and looked at McCree, definitely more perplexed than a few moments ago.
> 
> “Why?”  
>    
> McCree shrugged and his mouth tilted in a crooked smile.  
>    
> “Rules and shit”.  
>    
> “But I… I can resurrect the dead. I could, if you asked me, but I don’t recommend it – it always ends up in tragedy”.  
>    
> “Oh! So you’ve been asked to do this before?” McCree’s voce lowered in an inquiring tone and his head bent towards Hanzo.  
>    
> “It’s none of your business”, was the sharp reply. Hanzo shivered under the shadow of his long past and averted his eyes from the bright – if still very incredulous – smile of his new master. “Pick three things you want and be very precise”.  
>    
> “… let me guess. Yer one of those guys who takes things literally”.  
>    
> Something deepened in the man’s inflexion and Hanzo side-eyed him, suppressing a wave of concern.  
>    
> “You ask too many questions, mortal, for being…”  
>    
> “Like, I could ask you for world peace and you would grant it for – I dunno, fifteen seconds? Because that’s what I’d do in your shoes”.  
>    
> “Then the world must be grateful you’re only a puny mortal”. His face felt unpleasantly warm, and for the first time in centuries he didn’t feel completely in control of the situation. He stood up and looked down at McCree with all the scorn he could scrape up – and it was a lot of scorn.   
> “If you’re done with all this nonsense I’d suggest you let me go to my realm and only call me when I’m needed”.  
>    
> McCree stood up too, and Hanzo snarled softly at how taller he was, and put out a hand.  
>    
> “No no wait hun, I didn’t mean to offend you – I’m a bit shaken and… well, I’m mouthy in general so don’t mind me too much”.  
>    
> “What do you want then?”  
>    
> “I want to keep talking – hell, I really want to, yer something else and no matter if this will turn out to be a dream… I want to know you and… and…” McCree rubbed his eyes with two fingers and Hanzo noticed his hands were bruised and blistered. “Look, I have to go back to the camp. I’m most likely in trouble with bad guys whose identities I don’t even know, so I’m better off. More importantly, I have this”, and he shook the lamp, “which proves I’m no madman and I was right in insistin’ on researching this place”.  
>    
> Hanzo stiffened under a cold shiver and narrowed his eyes.  
>    
> “That’s not yours”, he hissed. “You can’t just wiggle it around, it’s mine”.  
>    
> _My prison, my burden, my choice._  
>    
>  McCree opened his mouth as if to speak, eyes fixed on Hanzo and something darkening in the depths of his amber gaze, then looked away.  
>    
> “Ok, so it seems we have something more to discuss. Sure as hell I’m to go back to Gabe – but of course you don’t know who he is. Or who I am, so let me explain, I’m a…”  
>    
> Hanzo scrunched is nose.  
>    
> “You’re my master and that’s all. Being in this form tires me, it makes me weak and needy for food and rest, so unless you want to make a wish do not disturb me”. He snapped his fingers and disappeared again, taking with him one last picture of McCree wounded gaze and stretched hand, together with the faint echo of his ‘no please, wait!’.  
>    
> He settled back in his blue emptiness; he could still hear the beating of his own heart in his ears and the dark spirals that formed his being were restless, twisting and turning in his prison.  
>    
> If he extended his consciousness to the walls he could almost feel the outside environment – McCree was cursing and stomping, throwing the lamp in his bag with a flow of “fuck you, fuck me, fuck the world” in his rumbling voice.  
>    
> A pretty voice, actually.  
>    
> No, no, what’s with this kind of thoughts? You’re not Genji and you know what humans are like: selfish, brutal and ignorant. No matter how many times your brother tries to convince you of the contrary.  
>    
> As if summoned by his disquiet a green feeling blossomed just out of his reach.  
>    
> “Brother, what’s happening?”  
>    
> Hanzo tried to turn away from the source of the thoughts, but there was little he could do to avoid Genji’s intrusion. Another part of his punishment: he could not get out of the lamp and back to the spirit world, but that brat insisted in communicating with him on every occasion.  
>    
> “Someone found me. Don’t worry, it’ll be done in no time”, he replied curtly. He felt Genji press against the exterior of the cage and tried not to recall his face from the bottom of his memory – unchanged, the same spry dark eyes and blazing green hair, the scars of magical wounds marking his skin forever.  
>    
> “How is it this time? Did they hurt you? Oh, Hanzo, I wish I could help you – I just wish I could prove you not all humans are monsters”.  
>    
> “Those who aren’t monsters are animals, so spare me your pointless enthusiasm, brother”. His voice didn’t sound as harsh as he’d wished, and Genji didn’t fail to notice. He fell quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again he sounded even more interested.  
>    
> “Do you think this will be the right one?”  
>    
> Hanzo tensed and projected his fury to his brother.  
>    
> “There’s no ‘right one’, Genji; stop living in fantasies”, he scoffed him, but Genji only laughed softly in response.  
>    
> “We are legends to them, Hanzo. To humans. As immortal spiritual beings that thrive on magic and ages of wisdom it’s easy to understand why they see us like that”.  
>    
> “You’ll always see mankind as a playground. Try and endure their cruelty just once and you’ll change your mind”.  
>    
> A soft sigh. Hanzo perceived a pale hand resting on the outer walls of his cage.  
>    
> “I’ve seen it. The cruelty and the madness – we’re brothers, do you think I didn’t experience your very same pain when your former masters used you like that?”  
>    
> Like that. So many possibilities and all of them – all of the humans he’d had the disgrace to cross paths with – ended up asking the same things. Power, wealth, and too often something else.  
>    
> _Him_.  
>    
>  Hanzo wanted to escape his brother’s presence. He knew Genji was right, and yet this only made things worse. Anger he could manage, but pity could have killed him.  
>    
> “But I’ve seen other things. Music, art – I’ve seen endless curiosity and kindness. Would you give this new master a chance?”  
>    
> “Why? Why should I?” he growled, rage inflating his spirit to the brim of his jail. “I don’t care! He’s just another brute from a meaningless time, and in the end you’ll see I was right again”.  
>    
> Genji’s hand slid from the magical barrier and he backed away.  
>    
> “I can feel you, brother. You can deny it but we’re bound, and I know your soul was different this time”. Genji’s smirk floated at the corner of Hanzo’s perception. “He’s some really pretty eyes”.  
>    
> “Shut up!”  
>    
> “As you wish, but you know as well as I do that the soul of a man shines through his eyes, and your new master’s are kind. I’m sure this time it’s going to be different”, and away he went, his sparkle fading in the darkness.  
>    
> Hanzo wanted his human form back just to punch something. In that plane of existence, the limbo between mortals and spirits, time worked in a different way; maybe Genji hadn’t been spying on him during his brief moments on Earth, maybe in their overworld ages had passed and his brother didn’t feel like he was pestering him (but since Hanzo knew Genji very well he was sure that was the case).  
>    
> He couldn’t tell how long he waited, somewhere between annoyed and scornful – and scared, but he dared not admit it even to himself. When the lamp trembled again he was resigned to the same assault to his senses; it only took him minutes to get back a grip on his old habits and this time he quickly answered the call.  
>    
> Hanzo squinted, expecting the same blinding light of his first summonings, but to his surprise the world was bathed in a faint, purple light.  
>  It was the first sunset he’d seen in centuries and something in his heart softened as he floated inches from the ground, his nose pointed up to the first stars of the night.  
>    
> A small cough drew his attention and he turned abruptly, only to find he was way closer to McCree than he’d thought. He slithered back some inches and took a quick look around.  
>    
> They were not by the river anymore, but around them the world seemed made of only sand and a handful of bushes, black and spiky in the dusk.  
>    
> “I know, you said only to bother you if I had decided about the wishes stuff, but I felt kinda sorry”, said McCree; he was sitting on the ground, longs legs crossed and a small white light at his side. “So I wanted to start it all over again. Also, I was feeling lonely and could use some company; mind to join me?”  
>    
> Hanzo put his hands on his hips and absentmindedly formed his own legs; this allowed him to tap his bare foot on the ground and enhance the sceptical look he shot McCree.  
>    
> “Was that your first wish?”  
>    
> “No fuckin’ way, mate. It was just an invitation, yer free to refuse it and go back to – how did you call it? Imprisonment or something like that?”  
>    
> “I’m not free to…”  
>    
> “You are! You can go back – you’ve already done that twice, remember? – or sit here with me. I have chocolate”, and he pulled his bag closer, sliding a hand in one of the outer pockets and drawing a small, shining rectangular object. The smile on his face was sweet and Hanzo hated himself for finding it almost sincere.  
>    
> _I’ve learnt nothing in all these years_ , he cursed himself. McCree opened the package and with a small snap broke the item in two.  
>    
> “When was the last time you’ve been here, Hanzo? What year was it?”  
>    
> Confused, Hanzo looked away. The horizon was pitch black in the East.  
>    
> “I don’t know, it depends of what calendar you’re using. Probably you’d say it was somewhere around the Tenth century”.  
>    
> “So you’ve never tasted this”.  
>    
> Hanzo was determined not to give him any attention, but suddenly something was gently pulling the silk of his baggy pants. With a snarl he tried to snatch his leg away, and yet here came that kind, trusting look in McCree’s eyes. He was leaning toward him, a dark square thing between his fingers and an annoying smile on his lips.  
>    
> “You can’t say no to chocolate. Trust me, it’ll be worth a try”.  
>    
> “What makes you think it will?”  
>    
> With a shrug McCree let go of his leg and sat back. He looked weary, with dark circles under his eyes and his clothes torn here and there.  
>    
> “I wanted to know you – the real you, not the genie. And maybe tell you who I am”.  
>    
> “I don’t care”.  
>  “You will after you’ve tasted this”, and insisted in offering him the chocolate.  
>    
> Hanzo rolled his eyes once more and grumpily accepted it. He didn’t really need food or drinks, as going back to his lamp would make him rested enough on its own, but apparently this was the only way to shut his master up. He bit the brown surface expecting nothing and already prepared for another of his snarky replies, but the sudden sweet taste on his tongue took him completely off guard. He chewed and swallowed with his eyes wide and his mouth watering; in seconds he finished the portion McCree’d given him and licked his lips and fingertips, amazed at how good that thing – whatever it was – tasted.  
>    
> McCree chuckled quietly and handled him the rest of the package.  
>    
> “Consider this a peace offering”, he said. Hanzo was about to take the rest of the chocolate but stopped, his hand almost touching Jesse’s.  
>    
> “This is some kind of trap, right?”  
>    
> “Darlin’, I’m not subtle enough for traps. It’s just chocolate, an’ I’m just your average guy tryna be friendly; yer the peculiar one, all sparkly and mysterious as you are”. He tilted his head on the side and his smile grew even gentler. “I’d like to talk with you”.  
>    
> Hanzo shivered as Genji’s words rang in his memory. If he was right and indeed McCree’s eyes reflected his soul, he was probably a good man.  
>  He couldn’t believe it and was not going to hope for a different ending, but sat down nonetheless and ate the chocolate.  
>    
> “So. Let me tell you who I am and how I ended here, darlin’. I promise it won’t take long”.  
>    
> And for once Hanzo fell silent, letting the low and warm words roll down his ears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back with a shocked McCree and a very pissed off Hanzo. Poor child, he has all the reasons to be.
> 
> Some notes: a Marid is another kind of spirit, more powerful than an Ifrit. A mystical equivalent of the Shimada elders.
> 
> Genji is and always will be a little shit.
> 
> McCree clearly watches Star Gate.


	3. Dogs hate me, goats hate me, bad guys try to kill me - help me maybe?

Alright, maybe – just _maybe_ – he was not going to die from head injuries and he was not hallucinating. McCree was not totally convinced about not being in immediate death danger but apart from a collection of small pains here and there he felt pretty good. Still, it could always be a dream – like he was in a coma and this all was a product of his mind drifting away into the darkness. Sure, this was inconsistent with how his bruises and scratches hurt, but it made lots of sense in the regards of the mysterious creature in front of him, across the camping light precariously sitting on the sand.

Accepting the fact that an actual person, if not entirely human, had appeared from the ancient lamp he’d found in the cave was hard enough; dealing with the fact that it was the whole genie story coming to life was blowing his mind.

Hanzo was sitting with his legs – McCree was so, _so_ happy he’d got legs – folded under his body and had been staring at him for the whole evening, his dark eyes deep and hiding any form of emotion.

“So yeah, as I was sayin’”, he tried to resume; the Ifrit hadn’t shown much interest in his words, but hadn’t disappeared either, so maybe it was a good sign. “I’m an archaeologist. It means that I…”

“I _know_ what an archaeologist is”, snapped Hanzo. McCree, half lying down with his bag propped behind his back, winced.

“Really? How so? I mean – no offense, darlin’, but you said that you didn’t know what year it is, so I supposed you had little access to common knowledge in your… well”, and he gestured to the golden lamp in his lap, “ _place_ ”.

“It is true, but not the whole truth. I could explain it to you but you probably wouldn’t understand…”

“Try me”, and he immediately realized how harsh his voice had sounded. He sat upright and crossed his legs, going for a gentler tone. “Please, if you wish”.

This seemed to unsettle Hanzo, whose face went blank for a second before he blinked. That moment of insecurity made him look younger, way more human, and McCree gulped in silence. Of all the things he could think there he was, considering how handsome that creature from another world was.

“I learn. In my prison”, and he pointed to the lamp with one of his gold-clad hands, “I can almost feel the worlds unravelling around me, and I get glimpses of both of them”.

“Worlds? You mean – not just this one but yours too?”

“They’re one and the same, only existing on two different sides of the same reality. How can I explain it to a mind as simple as yours? There are forces – different forces driving our worlds. You have time and space, we have magic”.

“Oh”. McCree wanted to sound offended or to give some witty retort, but he was too fascinated (and probably too tired) for it. “So yer immortal”.

Hanzo raised a hand to brush his long hair off his face; in doing so, the white leds lit sparkles on the jewels adorning his neck and chest; McCree tried very hard not to stare at the golden rings piercing his nipples.

“I am, for my original form is pure spirit. As is yours, once you’ll shed your flesh container”.

McCree shivered and held out a hand.

“Woah woah, not so fast, honey. It’s too late and yer dropping some big stuff here – never really stopped to consider what’s after death, so let’s take it easy, alright?”

The little sound falling from Hanzo’s lips could have been scorn or laughter. It was probably both, and his eyes coldly scanned McCree before he spoke again.

“As I was saying, a simple mind can’t handle such knowledge”. He twisted his hair on his shoulder, the black mass faintly glowing as the stars that adorned his arm and shoulder. “You were asking about how I learned your customs, so let’s keep our conversation to that. Not that I have any obligation to answer you, unless it’s one of your wishes…”

“Told ya, it’s just a friendly chat. You can tell me to get lost and I’ll shut up”.

“No you won’t”. This caught McCree off guard – was that sarcasm? Hanzo’s throat blushed and he looked away, his noble profile silhouetted by the pale light. “You talk. A lot. Always”.

“That I do”, chuckled McCree, rubbing his fingers in his beard. “’m sorry”.

His voice died in the silence. They stood motionless for a while, and eventually McCree dared to peek up at Hanzo.

The genie was looking away from him, far beyond the emptiness of the desert surrounding them; long lashes curved on his sharp cheekbones, dark eyebrows furrowed – he was not human, McCree had no doubt about that at this point, but that infinite sadness stung him right in the heart.

He coughed softly to break the stasis and ran a hand on the back of his head, shrugging.

“But come on, keep goin’ if ya don’t mind, I’m curious”.

Something similar to a smile curled Hanzo’s lips, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it gesture that McCree welcomed with a sigh.

“I’ve been told your kin is nosy and easily fascinated by something so little as the colours of a butterfly…”

“I am. I like things that are beautiful and things that I don’t understand. That’s what being an archaeologist is like, y’know?” He slumped back against his bag and looked up to the sky, searching the stars to find the same constellations that marked Hanzo’s skin. “I want to know more of what have been because it’s too easy to forget. And you never get old if you keep on learnin’ – which brings us back to my question”. He bent an arm behind his head to search the bag and pulled out a very worn out cigarette pack.

Hanzo’s back relaxed a bit and he hunched forward, his hands clasped in his lap.

“I learn because in my spiritual state I hear – not really listen, but it’s like… living history through a dream. Knowledge is here”, and he gestured to his head, “just out of my grasp. Then something happens and I remember”.

“You sound like me in college. Lots of naps and bad memory”. McCree tried to slip a cigarette from his pack; a rain of dry tobacco fell on his palm and he moaned. “Shit. I could’ve used a smoke”.

Hanzo took a deep breath and went on.

“I wouldn’t call my eternal slumber a nap, and my memory is exceptionally good. But truth is – it’s like…” He hesitated and squirmed, sitting in a less dignified and more comfortable position. McCree’s heart beat a bit faster. “It’s like knowing the theory behind something and being faced with a practical challenge. You have all the instruments to be successful but no guarantee it will be so”. He snorted and shot McCree a cold stare, lifting his chin. “I don’t expect you to understand, of course”.

McCree tried some more to extract a cigarette from the pack, finally managing to drop a single, broken one in his hand.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me, Hanzo. I got it. But I’m not that stupid, and I want to know more”. He discarded the filter and pressed the half cigarette between his lips, bending forward to lift the camp light to his face. “Meetin’ you’s the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me, I won’t let go so easily”.

He pressed the tip of the cigarette to the hot lamp and inhaled deeply as the tobacco started to burn. A foul taste of mud and mold filled his nose and throat, and McCree almost dropped the lamp, bending in half and coughing.

It took him some time to calm down, and when he managed to breathe again he kept on smoking, ignoring how disgusting the remains of his dunk in the river tasted. He wiped his eyes with his hand, and mid-gesture he caught Hanzo looking at him.

“Why do you do that?” The genie’s deep voice was beautiful on its own, even with its contemptuous undertones; now it sounded somehow different, almost interested.

“What, this?” McCree rose the two fingers still holding the cigarette. “Bad habit, I know, but I can quit whenever I want. It helps me relax and think, and now I need both things”.

“No. Why do you keep on asking me things? Why don’t you just proceed with your wishes and let me go?”

McCree frowned. The embers were so close to his knuckles he could feel the burn – and honestly, that cigarette tasted awful. He threw it away with a flick of his thumb and grabbed the golden lamp, running a finger on the round surface.

“Would you be free after my last wish?”

“No”, and whatever had softened in his composure a few moments ago hardened again. Hanzo lowered his head and his long hair fell on his shoulder, shielding his face from the world.

McCree bit down on his lip. He wanted to know more – he needed to ask more questions and to win himself a glimpse of the amazing story of his new friend. A story that – he sensed it with something deeper and more primal than wits – already tasted like tragedy. But he kept quiet, lying down on the warm ground and pushing his hat to cover his eyes.

“Anyway, you may be an immortal creature, but I’m just a man, and it’s been a hell of a day. I need to rest, and tomorrow I – shoot, _we’ll_ try and find a civilized place. I need to buy cigarettes”.

He could feel Hanzo sharply turning to him without seeing him doing so.

“What? Is that all?”

“For now? Yeah, honey. You can stay or go back to the lamp, your choice”. He yawned and winced to find a comfortable position.

For a long moment – enough to get him sleepy for real, and after all, it had been a very long day indeed – McCree was sure Hanzo was still there with him. He could sense his restlessness as if it was his own, and that strange sensation whisked something inside his brain.

But he didn’t move, letting exhaustion finally reclaim him. He was on the verge of sleep when he suddenly realized he was alone.

The air was cool, and above the smells of dust and dirty clothes, a subtle whiff of something different reached his already dozing mind.

Blue, otherworldly, unfamiliar.

The scent of stars?

 

 

Next morning was something very similar to a nightmare. McCree woke up aching in places he didn’t even know could hurt, thirsty and with a grumbling stomach. Luckily, he still had a good amount of water, and the previous day he’d walked enough to be nearly in sight of what his map pointed as a small town. When he opened another squished chocolate bar his eyes went to the lamp.

He spent the few hours of sleep clinging to it, and now an unexpected relief melted his muscles as he realized it was still there with him. His fingers rested gently on the metal surface, uncertain whether to move or not; Hanzo was just a rub of his hand away, and he needed to make sure the genie was not a trick of his fantasy. Maybe he could call him just to say good morning and have breakfast together?

_No, bad idea. The guy clearly doesn’t like you, and you have a good deal of road to march right now. He’d only hate you more if you summon him for no reason but enjoying his company._

Another time, perhaps. He found himself smiling faintly at the thought of how crazy the whole story was – and then some more when he recalled how Hanzo’s hair shone blue under the sun.

He shivered in the morning warmth and quickly flung the lamp in his bag. As fast as it had formed the thought disappeared and McCree stretched with a groan. No coffee, no cigarettes and the prospect of a couple of hours of hike under the unrelenting sun.

_Bring it on._

Later that day all his youthful determination was dripping from him with gallons of sweat and a profusion of curses.

The trip was proving harder than he’d expected due to his aching leg and the high temperatures; he was in sight of what looked like the town his map suggested and he was almost sure it was a mirage. He’d drained the last drops of water and his lips were chapped, his tongue so dry it almost felt swollen.

McCree dragged his feet along the road, nothing more than the trace of tires on the cracked hot ground; he was sure he could feel the heat seeping through his soles – less so of what he was looking at. He blinked until his sight stopped being so blurry and prayed silently the dark, square shapes he could make out in the distance were actually buildings and not his mind succumbing to dehydration.

A dog barked somewhere along the road, and McCree decided it was a good sign. Dogs needed water too, didn’t they? He tried to lick his lips to no avail and crawled forward some more.

His body cast no shadow, the sun too high in the sky and burning the back of his neck and his arms; his hair felt squished and damp under the hat, but at least his skull was not – yet – boiling.

One more step – he swayed and grabbed the straps of his backpack. Falling could only mean death, he knew that for sure. Another one, forward, always forward. The barking was nearer, angrier, and a low jingling of bells accompanied it.

McCree ran the back of his hand on his damp forehead and squinted in the sun.

Goats. There were goats, a scant half dozen black shapes behind a fence not more than fifty feet away. A gnarled, dead tree – the dog was a mangy reddish thing growling and stretching the chain that secured him to the trunk – and to its left…

“Oh shit. Oh dear God _yes_ ”. McCree panted and rallied his residual strength to run (if weakly) to the watering can. The dog bolted at him and his teeth snapped inches from McCree’s calf; the beast would have insisted some more but the bulk of the backpack thrown in his nose distracted him enough to allow McCree access to the stale water.

It tasted like dirt and goat – the very same animals that were now looking at him with their weird, blank eyes – and it was delicious. He drank and drank, muddy trickles running through his beard and down his neck, over the neck of his t-shirt and on his chest. Then Gabe’s voice rang in his memory.

_Not too much, Jesse; you don’t want to risk a gastric torsion, do you? It will be a miracle if you don’t get salmonella or something worse._

Well, it was too late for that. McCree gulped one last chug of water and dipped his head under the surface, shaking his hair and letting the dust of two days of fatigue melt in the stream. He emerged with a roar, rising a wave of droplets all around him, and fell back on his heels.

"Oh, stop it", he panted at the dog still busy with his woofs. When he retrieved his hat - he hadn't even realized he'd lost it - and looked at the cluster of houses he bolted on his feet. "Hey! Get off my stuff, you filthy mutt!" He waved his hands at the dog, now busy attacking his bag with yellow and pointy teeth. McCree reached for the strap and pulled, taking the dog with him. A weird kind of panic crawled upon him - there was _someone_ in that bag, he couldn't let anything happen to Hanzo.

He wrestled the dog for longer than could benefit his self-esteem - calling that thing skinny was an understatement -  but after some minutes the jaws abandoned their prey and McCree fell back, almost falling into the watering can and scaring a couple of very offended goats away.

Half rolling in to the dust and scratching his elbow on the ground McCree wrapped his arms around the bag and sat just out of the dog's reach. He was panting and his heart thundered in his ears - and for what? For a puppy baring his teeth?

He shook his head and slowly stood up, fingers still digging into the heavy lump against his chest. A quick check at the clasps - all intact, and if he pressed his fingers to the upper pocket he could feel the solid shape of the lamp still in its place.

"Come on dude, yer loud as fuck", he groaned to the dog, slinging the backpack over his shoulders. "Be a good boy and leave me be".

The dog snarled some more, drooled and eventually stopped making all that noise. His teeth were still quite threatening, floppy ears pulled back, but McCree felt safe enough to walk around the fence and to the small gate at the back. The goats bleated and stuck out their tongues, at which McCree replied with his middle finger.

"What's with you quadrupeds today? Can't a poor bloke have a drink in peace?" He tipped his hat and left, still dripping wet under the creepy gaze of the herd.  A couple of kids had emerged from the small houses; their eyes were huge and more curious than scared.

Hesitantly McCree waved and struggled for his most friendly smile. The children giggled and ran away, and McCree limped to the town.

He felt more than seeing the inhabitants looking at him. He was out of place and he knew it, but he spent months in Harut and knew how to try and not sound like a jerk.

The suburbs, with their greyish buildings and rusty cars parked by the road, were nearly empty, but McCree wandered the streets nonetheless, smiling to any passers-by met his gaze and hoping it didn’t make him look manic. His stomach grumbled, his legs ached and he needed nicotine – and there it was, the answer to his silent prayer. Just around a corner, a small house welcomed him with its cat sleeping on the mat and a red and white sign above the door. He squinted and grasped his scarce notions of Arabian, letting out a delighted moan as he finally read the sign. The promise of food and supplies put a spring in his stride and he almost ran to the door.

The man behind the counter, with his shiny bald head and grey beard, stared at him as if he was a ghost. McCree tried to recollect himself and took his hat off, taking an unsure step towards him.

“Hello”, he said in his approximative Arabian. He let the backpack slid down his arm and opened the top pocket. “Cigarettes. And something to eat, I can – I can pay”.

The man raised his thick eyebrows and nodded.

“Cigarettes?”

“Please, tell me you have them”, he whined, and this made the salesman smile.

“Sure, young man. Here”, and he slid a hand under the counter, placing a weird white and gold pack in front of McCree. He’d never seen such a brand before, but if it contained nicotine it was fine.

“Two, please. And…”

“My wife made konafah. It’s cheap and good, do you…”

“Yes!” His mouth immediately started to water, even if he had a very vague idea what the man was talking about. “One of that, please, and…”

He stopped and peeked at the golden gleam in the dark of the pocket.

“Let’s make two. I’ll take these too”, and he grabbed a handful of snacks, scattering them with the cigarettes.

“Hungry?”

McCree chuckled.

“Something more. I’m to go back to Harut and I got lost – how far is it from here?”

The man rummaged at his side with a plate covered in tin foil; underneath something looking like a pie with a noodle-like golden crust made McCree swallow in anticipation.

“On foot? I wouldn’t suggest that, you won’t find any town on your way there. There is a bus but it won’t pass until tomorrow”.

McCree cursed in English and shook his head. Well, he’d have to wait.

The salesman proceeded to wrap the konafah in some more aluminum and slid the two big slices into a plastic bag. His dark eyes scanned McCree’s purchases and with one hand he typed on the cash register.

The check flashed in green letters on the led screen and McCree fumbled with the wallet inside the bag. It was stuck at the bottom of the pocket, but he managed to wrestle out a couple of crumpled bills, his knuckles brushing a smooth and round surface.

Again. And again.

He placed the bills on the counter, by the lumpy plastic bag, and the man smiled.

McCree watched him take the money, and slowly his hand, still buried inside the bag, felt warm

 _Too_ warm. And kind of shaky.

“I go get the change, boy”, said the man, looking away from McCree. The cash register opened with a _ping_ right when a subtle trail of blue smoke started to seep from the pocket.

“It’s ten – twelve, fifteen…” The man was counting, stooped on the counter, and McCree swallowed a very loud _fuck_.

The smoke was pouring around his feet in thin spirals and panic kicked him in the head.

“… this is twenty, sorry but I usually deal with smaller notes…”

It was unmistakable: half the floor was clouded in blue, now, and any moment a (dangerously pretty and probably very irritated) human shape would have formed out of nowhere.

Time to act. McCree grabbed the plastic bag and ran.

“It’s okay thank you bye thank you sorry”, and he was on the door already and out, under the sun, scaring the poor cat away. He caught a glimpse of the very perplexed look on the salesman’s face but didn’t stop to inquiry longer; followed by a thick blue mist he bolted to the nearest alley, then took a couple of random turns and hoped with all of his heart that no one would see him. He stopped with a glide and crouched under an arc gaping on an empty courtyard, the backpack trembling against his back, and shut his eyes, ready for the worst.

“Did you call me, master?”

He lifted one eyelid and looked in front of him. Hanzo was standing with his arms crossed and his quite striking appearance – glossy hair and austere face and the glimmer of his tattoos and jewels – was completely out of place in the bleak environment. The Ifrit would have stood out even in a museum, but there, among garbage bags and yellowish weeds growing from the creaks of the pavement, he was even more incredible.

“Not… not really”, panted McCree. It was hard not to stare at Hanzo, but he needed to be cautious; he took his backpack off and peeked around the corner. A grey, dented scooter passed by, and none of the three people riding it turned to give McCree a look; the salesman hadn’t followed him, so it was all good. He breathed in relief and smiled up at Hanzo. The genie didn’t reciprocate.

“It was an accident, I touched the lamp while getting some money from my wallet – didn’t wanna bother you, honey. Sorry”.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

“I thought so, that’s why it took me so long to reach you. Be more careful, I don’t find it funny to be summoned in vain”, and he started to melt again in his blue mist.

“Wait!” Before thinking twice McCree tried to grab his wrist, but it was immaterial already. Still, Hanzo stopped and formed again, his nose scrunched in annoyance.

“Yes?”

“I… I got you this”, and he rummaged inside the plastic bag. He offered the aluminium-wrapped slice to Hanzo and smiled. “I dunno, maybe you don’t even like it, but… well, here it is”.

Hanzo hesitated, his grimace twisting into one of misunderstanding. McCree took it as an invitation to tell some more.

“It’s – how did the man call it? – konafah. I’ve had it before, it’s good, so I thought you… you might want some too”. He shrugged lightly; he was starting to feel stupid.

“Why?” Hanzo’s dark eyes went from the shiny triangular shape to McCree’s face, and their piercing, serious look shook him to the core.

“What? This? It’s just – it’s not a gift, I wanted to share something with you. I thought you liked sweets and… and…”

“it’s not something my master do, usually”.

“I’m not your average master then. What about a friend? Come one, take it”, and he wiggled his hand. Eventually Hanzo, after one last, inscrutable stare, extended his hand. Long fresh fingers brushed McCree’s dirty paw and closed around the package. They locked eyes for a second and McCree gulped, but then Hanzo went back to his usual cold composure and tore his gaze away, focused on unwrapping the konafah.

McCree laughed in silence and checked the street again – no one in sight, just some faraway cars too busy to look in their direction. He picked a cigarette pack from the plastic bag and tore it open with his teeth, the sweet scent of tobacco finally distracting him from the (honestly, quite too fascinating) young man in front of him. He pressed the filter between his lips and found the lighter in his pocket, but when his thumb pressed to ignite it no sparkle graced him.

“Fuck”, he grunted, and tried again. Nothing happened. With growing frustration, McCree tapped the lighter on the ground and gave it another go – with no better results. He groaned and threw his head back against the crusty wall. “One walks for miles under the desert sun just to have a smoke and guess what? No fire. I have to go back to the store and…”

A small flame lit in front of his eyes. McCree blinked and looked at it – a tiny thing, all blue and orange dancing on the tip of Hanzo’s index finger. The Ifrit’s cheeks were puffy with a mouthful too big for him and his (McCree let the adjective slip past the barrier of his consciousness) beautiful eyes lowered.

In silence, McCree leaned forward just enough to light up the cigarette and inhaled.

“Thank you”, he said softly, disbelieved. As it had appeared the fire vanished, leaving no marks on Hanzo’s skin. McCree breathed out some smoke and tilted his head to the side. “This time I’m the one who’ll ask you why…”

Hanzo swallowed – half of his serving was gone already – and licked his lips.

“We’re even”, he said, voice slightly hoarse. A small cough to clear his throat and he looked at McCree. “This is good, and you were kind to think of me”.

McCree smoked in silence, well aware that Hanzo’s eyes weren’t leaving him.

“Mph. Now that’s better”. He puffed out a ring of smoke and placed the backpack at his side. He was actually feeling rather calmer now, even if he knew that standing in a momentarily empty spot with someone as peculiar as an Ifrit at his side didn’t qualify as safety. “I should call Gabe – let me see”, and he opened a side pocket. His phone was there, the screen still partially blurred after the previous day’s dive. It was off, predictably enough, but he tried to press the power button nonetheless – to no avail. “Ah, there. Fuck my life, it’s gone, and I fear the laptop is in no better conditions…”

Cigarette held between his teeth and hat shadowing his eyes he proceeded to disassemble the phone; maybe if it dried properly it could switch on again? Anyway, it was worth a try. Hanzo crouched on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking closely at McCree.

“Tell me one thing, master – “

“Once again: please, it’s Jesse. Or McCree, or ‘you there’, or anything. Not master”. He blew on the battery and checked it closely: nothing seemed actually off, no sign of rust, so maybe there was a chance to save his phone.

“It’s the same. You seem pretty uninterested in your three wishes: why?”

McCree brushed the miraculously intact screen on his chest and grinned.

“Because I’m still convinced it’s all a misunderstanding”.

Hanzo flushed, a bright red wave rising from his throat to his cheeks. McCree’s breath faltered: it was a dangerously pretty sight.

“As I’ve told you before it is not. Do you think I’ll grant you one free wish if you insist on doubting my word?”

“No way, darlin’, it’s just… I dunno, I’m trying to stay sane? And what if I make a wish without meaning to?”

Hanzo perched his elbows to his knees and slowly shook his head.

“How could – can you humans be that foolish? One should know how to form a sentence, it’s not that hard!”

“No, it’s not”. McCree carefully put all his phone parts into his bag and stretched his legs, finally looking back at Hanzo. “But you said that yourself: you take things literally, and I’m frankly surprised you didn’t interpret some of my phrases as actual wishes. It’s been thoughtful of you”.

Hanzo’s jaws clenched and he averted his gaze, lips pressed tight into a furious line.

“You still think this is all a joke”.

“I’ve stopped believin’ it quite a long time ago, Han. But I’m not ready for the wishes, ok? Let’s just… listen, I have an idea. What if we pick a safe word?”

The little frown that wrinkled Hanzo’s brow could have been disdain or perplexity, and in doubt McCree strongly regretted his choice of words. The Ifrit’s reply didn’t make things better.

“What’s a safe word?”

McCree ran his hand on the back of his head, where his skin burned and not just from the excess of sun. Shit, why did he have to use such a term, with all its inappropriate and explicit subtext? But what was done was done.

“It’s – er – it’s complicated. But you didn’t ask for the origin of the term, right? Right. To-To keep it simple lemme just say that it will help you understand when it’s a real wish and when…”

“So you’re finally convinced. I’m not kidding you, my magic is real”.

“Maybe it is, but in any case, better safe than sorry. We’ll need something I don’t usually say, something that can’t be mistaken for common discourse. _Banana_?”

Hanzo snorted the shortest of chuckles and immediately recollected himself; he coughed, smoothed back his already very smooth hair and leaned back against the wall; he could do little to hide the blush on his face.

“That’s embarrassing. I must admit it’s a clever idea on your side, but _banana_? Seriously?”

“Why not? I don’t go around yelling that. Not when I’m sober, at least”.

“Can’t you be serious for once and choose something more… mystical?”

McCree laughed in earnest, so loud Hanzo winced and he himself had to press a hand to his mouth. No one seemed to have heard him, but he controlled around the corner anyway.

“No way, I’d crack myself up with anything resembling a spell or something like that. Why don’t we keep it simple? ‘This is a wish’, what d’you think, darlin’?”

Hanzo shrugged, and his broad shoulders rolled back in the gesture.

“If you like it… but try to decide soon, master. I grow tired of waiting”.

“You despise me so much?” At first he’d meant the words to sound playful, but to his surprise a sting of pain shot through his heart. He scanned Hanzo’s face, but the Ifrit quickly looked away.

“You’re human. You can’t be different from what you were born, so this conversation is pointless”. He stood up and his many rings and bracelets tingled in the motion. “I’ll go now, but I’m glad we’ve made it clear that I’m not lying to you”.

McCree pouted a bit; Hanzo was already blurring in blue and he simply didn’t want him to leave – even if having him around was dangerous. Not to the Ifrit, immune to bullets as he was, but to McCree himself.

“Fine, I will…”

The shriek of tires pierced his ears and brain, and McCree found himself standing before he’d even realized he was moving. At his side, Hanzo was fully physical again.

It could have been nothing, just a mindless driver trying to avoid a stray cat crossing the road, and yet McCree felt adrenaline flow in his blood.

“Stay behind me”, he whispered.

“No, _you_ stay behind me. They can’t hurt me”. Hanzo sounded serious and McCree glanced at him.

 _Damn_.

Sharp features, bared teeth, eyes glimmering faintly – even without the special effects of smoke and shiny tattoos he didn’t look human. Only dangerous.

“Sure thing, but the less people see you the better, and…”

A woman yelled in the distance. Gunshots, cries – the common symphony of trouble.

“We should leave”. Hanzo’s voice was so low McCree could barely hear him; even so, he shook his head.

“Yeah, but going out now means getting’ caught. Better wait, they’re probably not after me”.

The Ifrit’s bare arm was solid against his own, almost sizzling from tension.

More screams in the distance, more shooting. McCree froze against the wall, only his hands alive as the searched the bag for his gun. Never again he’d let himself forget it under a pile of laundry.

He managed to drag it out and his hand didn’t shake as he aimed to the entrance of the alley.

“This would be an excellent moment to make a wish”. Hanzo sounded calm despite everything and McCree wished he could be as untouched by panic.

“Told ya, whoever these people are I’m not the one they’re looking for”.

It would be too unlikely, how come they could have found him after a run in the desert like that one?

And then they appeared. The same camo outfits, the same rifles pointing at him – and behind that half a dozen armed men, the same pale, square face. McCree recorded some cold grey eyes and shorn black hair before instinct moved his hand. His finger found the trigger and he fired, catching the first man in line in the leg.

His cry of pain filled the still, hot air of the alley and before thinking twice McCree turned and ran. Not the best idea, since more bullets started to fly around him.

“Alright, _maybe_ they’re after me all in all”, he panted. He rolled behind the corner and found himself – and Hanzo – trapped in a courtyard. Cold sweat beaded on his back as he looked up to the tall buildings surrounding them.

“Fuck”, he moaned.

“I can help you”. Hanzo’s voice was so unnaturally calm it sent shivers up his arms. McCree frantically scanned the courtyard only to find a black cat staring at him on a windowsill and a rusty gutter climbing up the scratched walls.

“That… would be much appreciated”. Footsteps were approaching and windows around him were closing in fear, the inhabitants of the houses all around hiding from the well-known impending shooting.

“If you asked, of course”.

The mercenary band appeared in the courtyard and McCree aimed in vain. He could easily take down one more assailant, and what for? There were more, too many and too well armed.

“Let’s give this a try, shall we, darlin’?” He ducked behind a trash bin that exploded in a firework of potato peels and crumpled paper and held his hat in place with his free hand. “This is a wish, pretty thing. Fuckin’ _help me_!”

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow and just stood in front of him, completely unaffected by the bullets around his body. His eyes shone blue for a moment and a sharp grin curled his lips.

“Could you be more specific?”

“No I can’t! In case you missed it, these jerks are tryina kill me!” Still too shocked to feel fear, he shook his head at the genie, fingers digging into the leather of his hat. “Do... something! _Anything_! Come on, I used the safe word, it is a real wish!”

It couldn’t work, the rational part of his brain knew it perfectly. Next thing he’d known would have been darkness as a shot caught him in the face and blew his head up. But had he got any other chance?

“Please, Hanzo!”

Unexploded bullets were falling at the Ifrit’s feet and he smiled some more. The stars on his arm sparkled and his lips showed a hint of pearly white teeth.

“As you command, master”. He rose his hands and McCree closed his eyes, waiting for the unavoidable death.

He was prepared for an explosion. What he was not prepared for – and never would have been – was _magic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back y'all!
> 
> This week please welcome:  
> -McCree loosely quoting Zevran from Dragon Age;  
> -Flirting? What's flirting? It sounds dangerous;  
> -Goats being their terrible selves (srsly, have you ever looked one in the eye? An endless void of darkness. Still love them tho);  
> -Sparkles!  
> -Konafah is delicious;  
> -Pretty boys being cute.
> 
> Thank you all for every kudo and comment and everything, it means the world to a (severely lacking in self-esteem and prone to anxiety) writer <3


	4. A long, bitter past

Summoning a barrier to close the courtyard was such an easy task for him he didn’t even have to focus on his power to create a translucent, semi-physical wall to block out their enemies. Hanzo wiggled his fingers and stepped back, cocking an eyebrow at McCree, still crouched behind the garbage.

“Done. You can look, now. I strongly suggest you do, because maybe you’ll stop with your skeptical nonsense”. Arms crossed on his bare chest he waited, and when McCree finally squinted under his hat he wholeheartedly enjoyed the look of marvel in his eyes. His master opened his mouth and, still gripping the gun, slowly stood up.

Hanzo couldn’t stop a smile from curling his lips. He was proud of himself: the little spell that turned air into a barrier that stopped bullets and bodies from reaching the courtyard might be simple, especially when fuelled by the power of a wish, but it was impressive nonetheless. McCree, eyes wide and eyebrows migrated somewhere under the oaken bangs shadowing his forehead, seemed hypnotized by the show of fully armed men hitting the solid air with the butts of their rifles, with kicks and punches and lots of swearing – as if it could be any effective.

“Fuck. That’s – _fuck_ ”. McCree’s voice shook as the finger he was pointing at Hanzo’s magic. “You did that. You really did…”

“Do you trust me now?”

“Yeah. Damn, it’s – I can’t believe it, you really… you did it. You saved my life”. There it was, the awe Hanzo’d felt so many times before. And yet this time it wasn’t affecting him: something in his chest felt warm, a very different sensation from his usual bitter triumph. When McCree turned to him with a huge smile parting his beard Hanzo tensed.

_What’s this thing I’m feeling?_

“Honey, yer a miracle. How long will it last?”

“As… as long as I want it to. Which leads us to another point: you’re still in trouble. Those men will eventually find a way in, and with two wishes left you can solve your problem. Do you want me to…”

“No way, I’m saving them for later! Sorry if I misjudged you, Hanzo, it was mean. But now I think I can sort things out myself”. He clicked something on his gun and slid it in the back pocket of his pants. When he looked up to the three-stories buildings surrounding them his smile switched to something more practical. Somewhat dangerous. “I suppose you’ll have no trouble following me, but we need to get outta here soon. Ready to go, starshine?”

“Star… starshine?” Caught completely off guard by the nickname Hanzo blinked, but before he could find something else to say McCree grabbed the dented gutter and gave it a tug.

“It might hold my weight. Come on”, and he flexed his arms, pulling himself up.

Hanzo’s first thought was that he was stronger than he’d imagined, but then again, McCree actually looked imposing. Now his shoulders were straining his t-shirt, and with every soft grunt, with every step up the wall the tendons on his thick neck bulged under the sweaty skin.

Cursing in a language no one’d been speaking for ages Hanzo lowered his head – unfortunately, in doing so his eyes rested for a second on the curve of McCree’s thighs and…

_No. Stop it now. He’s your master, he’s a mortal and as such nothing but a nuisance in the best case._

He gave one last look at the barrier and floated up, reaching McCree somewhere between the second and third line of windows.

“Do you really think you can do it by yourself?” he asked, a dry sarcasm twisting his words.

“Yep”. McCree panted and grabbed the nearest windowsill. The black fabric stretched on his arms and Hanzo snorted quietly.

“They’ll find a way in”.

“Yep”, he said again. He perched himself to the sill and jumped the get another grip on the gutter, completely concentrated on his task. His face was serious now, his brow furrowed; not more than five feet separated him from the roof, and Hanzo slowly floated up, forming his legs back and sitting on the edge.

McCree was breathing hard through his nose and his face was very red for the effort, but he was almost there.

_Almost_ , because the plugs holding the gutter in place gave way at the last moment. With a moan the metal bent and tore from the wall, arching slowly under McCree’s weight.

Hanzo moved before he could consider the consequences of his actions. He just extended an arm and grabbed McCree’s backpack, pulling him up with some effort – he was big indeed.

As he dragged the heavy body over the edge, nearly throwing him face first on the concrete, his heart pumped faster. Too fast for his tastes.

McCree landed badly, hitting the solid surface with his elbows and huffing out a great mouthful of air. He coughed twice and crawled on his knees, looking at Hanzo in disbelief.

“This was… was not a second wish, right?” He slowly stood up, swaying a bit in the process, but his smile was finding its way back on his lips. Hanzo quickly composed his face to his most austere expression and narrowed his eyes.

“No. Consider it part of the ‘help me’ thing, but I won’t be making any other exception to the rules, understood?”

“Cristal clear. Thank you then, Han”. He tipped his hat and bent in a small bow before resuming his run. “Gotta go, now”.

It was nothing for him, really: following McCree in his escape on the rooftops, jumping from building to building wasn’t exactly a challenge for someone who could literally _fly_ , but Hanzo found himself struggling to keep track of his own mind.

Genji was probably laughing somewhere. The thought of the smirk on his brother’s face made him clench his fists in a painful mixture of rage, shame, and regret – Genji’d always loved mankind, and for what? For _this_? For running at the heels of a daredevil fool who couldn’t tell the difference between legends and reality and wouldn’t stop smiling at him?

Hanzo cursed some more when McCree leaped from the roof and landed with a somersault on a small balcony. A woman let out a shriek and Hanzo darted down at her back, desperately trying to ignore McCree’s ‘Sorry, m’lady’ and polite hat-tipping.

He was loud and obnoxious, and…

“Careful!” His own voice startled him, but not as much as McCree throwing himself in the air from the balcony. Hanzo was ready to catch him, and instinct moved his magical force without his explicit consent.

“No problem, honey, I got this and… Oh, that’s cool!” McCree giggled when Hanzo’s half-assed spell slowed down his fall, letting him bounce on the black cloth roof of a car parked right beneath him. With a roll, McCree threw his legs inside the window, sliding in the car with no apparent trauma.

Almost – _almost_ – impressed Hanzo followed him, only to find the man balled under the steering wheel. Now that he could see and touch it he remembered many things – how the engine would roar, the smoke in their trail. The necessity of a key to start the whole thing.

“This vehicle belongs to those men”, he said, peeking from the window.  
  
“I know, that’s why – shit, how was that? I swear I've done this before – we’re stealing it”. McCree was an ungraceful shape all crouched under the seat, his backpack cumbersome and his hat abandoned on the dashboard.

“They’re coming this way”. He couldn’t but glance back, where the band of mercenaries yelled in their direction.

“Fine, just fine. I work better under pressure – if only I could remember what cable is…”

“You have two wishes left, can I…”

“I can do it, Hanzo, thank you very much. This ain’t the first car I steal, y’know? And if I recall correctly…”

With a jerk and a rumble the engine started, and McCree sat up, hitting his head on the wheel.

“Ouch… ta- _dan_!” he said with a jubilant grin on that stupid face of his. “Get on, darlin’, we’re leaving!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and jumped inside from the driver’s side, thus forcing himself to crawl upon McCree, already busy kicking the pedals and setting off with a loud shriek of tires on asphalt.

By the time he managed to land with his face pressed into the passenger’s seat and his feet still half tangled in McCree’s legs, they were already running so fast the air hissed through the open window. Muttering a lengthy list of swear words under his breath, Hanzo got a grip on the handle on the car’s door and sat in a more dignified position; even so, he had to remove his hair from his eyes and mouth, and squirm to get comfortable.

“Fasten your seatbelt, sugar”. McCree’s eyes were fixed on the road, and Hanzo sat upright and turned around to see a group of dark shapes growing smaller in the distance behind them.

“How did you know they only had one car?” he asked, forgetting to lower his voice to make it sound more intimidating.

“I didn’t, but we’ve been lucky, am I right?” McCree grinned, one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm wrestling his bag’s straps to take them off. “I could use some assistance here – totally _not_ a wish, mind you, but if you could…”

Without thinking twice Hanzo grabbed the backpack and pulled it until McCree was able to slip off it.

“Thank you, darlin’. The seatbelt, tho”, and he gestured to him with his chin. Hanzo squished the bag between his feet and gave McCree one of his signature contemptuous looks.

“I’ve told you before, I can’t die from injuries in this form”.

“Whatever. I’d feel safer if you did”, and pointed at his own chest, where the black strip of the seatbelt dug into his pecs.

Hanzo quickly looked at the road unrolling in front of him and did as McCree told him, but not without internally hating himself for the heat rising to his cheeks.

“It’ll take them a while to find a way to follow us – and in the meantime, I hope they won’t cause too much trouble to those poor people”. He sounded worried and immediately fell silent. Hanzo tucked a black strand behind his ear and frowned.

“You’re worried about people you don’t even know. Why should you?”

“Damn, Han, this is… not really the time for moral dilemmas, y’know?” McCree took his hat from the dashboard and threw it on the back seat, and only then Hanzo realized there were some supplies in the trunk. “Sometimes it’s just that you want to do the right thing and not make other people’s lives miserable. I’m starting to suspect what these thugs are after, and I don’t like it a bit”. He ran a hand through his locks, making the shorter hair on the back of his neck stand up. He looked distressed, so different from the efficient - if justly nervous - man he’d been but minutes ago.

“But I don’t understand… why would you care?”

McCree slammed his hand on the wheel and shot Hanzo a fiery stare that only worsened the precarious conditions of his control.

“Because it would be my fault! It’s been my fuckin’ fault since the beginning, since I ran from Gabe’s camp and found the cave and the lamp…” His deep voice cracked and he hit the steering wheel again, frustrated. “It’s getting’ worse now, tho. I saw you, who you are, what you can do – and whoever those assholes are, I don’t want to handle you to them. You’re too important and they’d use you as a weapon or somethin’ like that and I don’t… I don’t want to…”

He shook his head and gathered a decent impression of a smile that made his eyes shine as they lay on Hanzo for a second.

“They would hurt you and I won’t let it happen”, he concluded simply.

“They can’t hurt me and you know it very well”, replied Hanzo in a cold, hard voice. He felt like he was falling to pieces and didn’t like the sensation at all. “As an Ifrit I’m…”

“They’d make you do horrible things, and that _hurts_. It’s not always about one’s body, y’know?”

And to this Hanzo had no further reply. He hated being left speechless and it happened rarely, but here they were. After a long minute of shock, he recollected some of his voice.

“For what I know you could be the same as them, or even worse. I can’t see why I should trust you”.

“Hanzo, I…” but he couldn’t finish his sentence, and instead he threw his head back against the seat. “I’m about to mess things up, yer warned”.

“What? Are things going to be worse than stealing a car from some weapon dealers or whatever they were and running away in the desert with no definite destination?”

Despite everything McCree chuckled and playfully punched Hanzo’s shoulder. The Ifrit could have sworn sparkles sizzled at the contact of skin on skin and he held his breath.

“I love it when you try to outsass me, buddy. Yer a funny, smart guy – and then there’s the whole magic thing that drives me insane in the best possible way. I’ve never seen anything like that, I mean, the wall you created. Like, not even in movies”.

“You’re changing the topic now – well, of course it’s not like in the movies, you can _feel_ the magic crawl upon your skin, it’s different. Anyway, why would you mess things up?”

“Ah. Er…”

McCree took a cigarette; Hanzo was ready with some more fire, but apparently the car lighter was enough. He tried not to feel disappointed.

After a moment of silence, McCree spoke again, and his voice was a low, sad whisper.

“What’s been done to you, Hanzo? I mean, I can be annoyin’ as shit, but sometimes you seem to despise me fo’ real, and I don’t think it can be all my fault. Or if it is, I’d like to apologize…”

“It’s none of your business”, he snapped back, crossing his legs. The shape of the lamp bulged in the top pocket of the bag.

“I know, but I… well…”

McCree took some time to smoke quietly, shifting uneasily as he still ran at top speed on the bumpy road.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked”, he grumbled. With his head low and his shoulders slumped he looked so mortified Hanzo wanted to comfort him.

What _? Are you serious? Look at you, you’re an Ifrit, he’s a mortal! Come back to your senses!_

But the voice of his conscience was not loud enough to speak above the protests of his heart.

“No, it’s alright. It’s… the wishes part. It’s not as fun as they tell you”. He turned to the window and stared at the empty landscape, all yellow hills and caliginous sky. He wished it still hurt, but he’d grown accustomed to abuse, and this was the worst part of it.

_I’ve stopped fighting – what right have I to fight, when this is the punishment I choose for myself?_

“So I got this right, didn’t I? You were forced to do bad things. Well, I won’t say I ain’t done some wicked shit in my life. Apart from stealin’ cars, that’s not the worst I’ve had. Good thing Gabe saw some brain in this pretty head of mine and went ‘put yerself together, McCree, and I’ll find you a way into college’, and here I am…”

“I… yes, sometimes my masters asked me for terrible things. Sabotaging battles, overthrowing enemies, I think the world should be glad the lamp never fell into the hands of an actual tyrant, or history would have been much different”. Hanzo sighed and let his arm float with the wind out of the window; his hair was still sticking to his face and he didn’t care. “They all wanted power and wealth, fame and… and something else”.

His voice died in a whisper. Hadn’t he been feeling McCree’s solid presence at his side he could have thought the mortal wasn’t paying him any attention, but he was surprised to realize he was indeed listening to him.

“I’m scared to ask what that something else could be”. The man’s voice was an angry rumble.

“Then don’t ask. What makes you think I’d be willing to reply?”

“Yer speakin’ to me now. How long had it been since you…”

_… felt the urge to share my burden with someone? Admitted I was in pain and alone and broken? Too long._

“Just know this: I can’t say no if a master wishes for something. _Ever_ ”.

He waved his fingers in the air stream, feeling his skin quiver under the wind and take away his painful confession.

McCree didn’t say anything for such a long time Hanzo wondered if he’d heard his words. He tilted his head and peeked at him from the fall of his long hair.

He was pale under the suntan, jaws clenched and knuckles protruding white from the fists closed on the wheel.

“Jesus Christ”, he muttered, panting hard. His mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something foul, and when he turned to Hanzo – a quick stare, almost terrified to linger too long – his eyes were shiny.

“I don’t mind it anymore and I’m prepared for…”

McCree stopped the car so abruptly Hanzo was left breathless by the seat belt pressing his collarbone and sternum. His head snapped forward and he fell back, bouncing against the headrest.

“ _Don’t say it_. There’s nothing to be prepared for. I may have been a jerk back in the days but never – _never_ – I’ve forced myself on someone”. McCree’s fingers found Hanzo’s wrist and grabbed it with a strength that conflicted with the vulnerable look in his eyes. They looked almost copper in the sharp sun of the late afternoon. “Fuck, Hanzo, that’s not me. That’s _never_ gonna be me, got it?”

It was hard to form a coherent thought with that fierce stare piercing his soul, with the strong fingers digging into his skin. Hanzo gritted his teeth to fight back a wave of something unexpected he could not name and the stars on his tattoo sparkled brighter.

Was that panic knotting in his throat? Or hatred? Or…

“Many said something similar before. I know how it ended”. His whisper faded in the uproar of McCree fist hitting the door.

“No fuckin’ way, Han! No, ok? I won’t get to prove you all mankind is worth forgiveness, but I’ll sure as hell show you that I ain’t no asshole. I swear, whatever it takes – you’ll never have to fear… _that_ from me. Or anything else”.

He sounded sincere. Wounded, even, and ready to do something foolish to keep his word.

Hanzo bit down on his lip and looked at McCree’s fingers still wrapped around his wrist. The idea of staring back at him now that he’d shown too much of his past was unbearable, but even so the feeling of his fingers as McCree slowly retreated his hand sent a light shiver up Hanzo’s spine.

“I don’t care”, he hissed.

“Well guess what, I do. Now… fuck, told ya I’d mess things up and here we go. I wish sayin’ I’m sorry could make things better”, and he carded his fingers in his hair again, ruffling it some more.

Hanzo had no words for such a reaction. He simply waited – for his heart to stop beating so fast, for his breath to quit itching in his throat, for shame to leave his face.

But the more he waited, the more he wanted to talk again. He needed to reassure McCree that really, the abuse he’d suffered was many lifetimes ago and he’d survived it all, so why bother? And no matter how his master felt, after they’d be done with the last wish their paths would diverge forever.

The shiver turned into a jolt of suffering and Hanzo stiffened.

“I’m tired”, he said dryly.

“Do you want to get on the back? We can stop for a while and set up a bed or… oh. No, that’s not what you meant”, and McCree sounded bashful. Sad, perhaps? He slowed down the jeep and turned to Hanzo, a crooked smile twisting his lips up. “If you want to go back to your lamp it’s fine, you shouldn’t even ask. It may sound strange but yer free to come and go, Han…”

“I’m not, and you know it very well”, and he immediately regretted being so harsh. He was starting to feel ethereal, but before disappearing he added: “But thank you”.

The last thing he saw before accepting the cage closing around him was a melancholic smile on McCree’s lips, so different from his usual jackass appearance it stuck to his memory.

Hanzo settled down in his spirit form and coiled at the bottom of the lamp. It was peaceful and silent, and after so many emotions on the mortal plan he had to rest – but sleep didn’t come. Whatever he’d been feeling under the violent sun was so bright and intense compared to his world of echoes and dreams he just couldn’t regain his calm.

_That’s why I need this to be done quickly. One wish made, two more to go._

But this time his resolution didn’t sound as convinced as it used to be.

Hanzo let out a silent sigh and tried to find the peace of heart to rest. All he could make out in the darkness of his cell, though, was the horrified reaction McCree’d showed when he understood what, among other things, being a genie meant.

It was wrong. _He_ was wrong, he knew it – McCree was no different from anyone he’d met in his long life, just friendlier on the outside, with his gifts of food and the glint of a smile always lingering in his eyes.

_He’s like all the other masters you had to endure, you old fool. Wait and you’ll see his true colours._

With a tired sigh, he lay down against the invisible barrier surrounding him. He wanted to stretch, to feel the soreness in his muscles ease and moan at the sensation, but he had no body to relax. His tension was just a faraway memory still haunting his mind, and he couldn’t get rid of it with something physical and simply enjoyable.

If his punishment was an agony, he had to admit that walking on two feet and feeling the sun warm his skin were the only nice additions to the mixture.

And with this, it was like summoning a demon. Except he didn’t mean to summon anyone, much less that little urchin he had the misfortune to call brother.

“Is it just me”, said Genji’s voice somewhere out of the cell, “or someone is not even remotely as grumpy as he used to be?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother”, he said wearily. He had to be tired indeed if he couldn’t find a better, sassier reply to Genji’s teasing. He felt the green glow creep around him and tried to turn his consciousness away.

Unfortunately, Genji was persistent. If ‘persistent’ was an acceptable synonym for ‘annoying’.

“That’s a lie, Hanzo. Remember? I can _feel_ you. And you haven’t been this warm and glowing in ages: can you deny it?”

The sheer amusement in his younger brother’s voice was enough to make him nervous; it was nothing new – Genji liked to tease, and Hanzo suspected it was some wicked way to show his affection – but it had never affected him so much before.

“Mind your own business, you brat”.

“Still not denying it. Wouldn’t you tell me some more? I can see you’re different but I need details”.

“And I need you to leave me alone!”

He could almost feel it – the gentle touch of a cold hand on his shoulder. That was what Genji wanted to do, and his mind was strong enough to turn his intention into a sensation, even if none of them was corporeal and there was a magical barrier dividing them.

“Brother, it hurts me to see how bitter you’ve grown. This new master of yours seems like a genuinely good man, he…”

“Give him some time”, he hissed back. “And you’ll see he’s made of the same lies and deceit as the rest of his kind”.

“There’s no ‘kind’, Hanzo! Not how you mean it, however: humans are all so different from each other you can’t just…”

“Enough!” His roar made his blue form vibrate and shine brighter. Genji didn’t relent, his presence still heavy on Hanzo’s soul. “What do you want?”

“You to be happy. Even if only for a minute, I really want you to give yourself the chance to experience something different from regret and self-deprecation”.

“I don’t want to feel anything but…”

It was Genji’s time to interrupt him, and his young voice sounded suddenly authoritative.

“You don’t get to decide what you feel. Stop struggling against the flow and accept that you’re more human than you’re willing to admit”.

“Are you trying to insult me? Because I consider ‘human’ quite an offensive term”. He was being coy again, but Genji was not so easily distracted.

“You left the lamp without being clearly summoned…”

“I thought he’d called me, that’s all. And he _did_ touch the lamp, so this proves nothing”.

“It does when it comes from someone who’s always done his best to stay in the world for as little time as possible. And don’t think I failed to notice how longer you’ve been with him, from the very beginning”.

Flustered, Hanzo backed away from his brother’s presence.

“He had questions”.

“Questions you never cared to answer for thousands of years”.

Words fell from his mouth before his common sense could stop them.

“Different. They were different”. He regretted speaking the moment he heard Genji go silent for too long, so he quickly fumbled for something to fill the void with – to mask his own confusion.

“But this doesn’t mean they were _better_ ”.

“Oh, come on, big brother! He seems to care about you, and I’m sure I haven’t dreamt the wave of heat you felt when you touched his hand”.

“Genji, stop it now or you’ll regret it”.

“It’s the other way around, Hanzo: do something now or _you_ will regret it”.

How he wished he could be in Genji’s reach just to punish him for his arrogance – but by the time the thought had formed in his mind, his heart shrunk with remorse.

Clear pictures of their quarrel, flashes of blue and green light, Genji’s voice asking him _why_ … Hanzo turned his back to his brother and, for the first time since his punishment had started, he wanted to escape.

Oh, that he was good at. Even inflicting his prison upon himself was a form of running away. From responsibilities, from his brother’s forgiveness, from his own shame in the face of his equals… but now he wanted to be everywhere else but in the lamp.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, Hanzo? Knowing that I am right and that you’re once again avoiding a chance to be happy”. Hanzo tried to ban Genji’s grin from his mind, and even more so the gentle spark in his eyes. “Otherwise why would you have been out there for so long, even after your master made his wish? Admit it, brother: you want…”

“I’ve had enough of this!” His voice rose in a roar and his spiritual form inflated with anger, shaking the magical walls enclosing him. “Leave me!”

“Or else?” The sheer amusement in Genji’s tone was the right thing to push Hanzo over the brink of his rage.

Or to make him do something really stupid.

Such were his fury and embarrassment he didn’t even realize the change in his form. One moment he was there, fuming at Genji’s confidence, and the next it was dark – and he had eyes to realize it.

He squinted and took a deep, shaky breath, as if he’d just woken from a nightmare, and as soon as he realized he was human again, sitting in the very same jeep he’d seen earlier that day, he turned around.

McCree’s eyes were wide in the near darkness, his hand fluttering inches from Hanzo’s knee.

“Ho-Howdy?”

Hanzo realized, with a shock of horror, that he was shaking. Sure it was the aftermath of his discussion with Genji, and damn him, he could still feel his brother chuckle somewhere beyond the veils of the worlds. He wrapped his arms around his bare torso and kept his face stubbornly against the window.

“Did you… call me?” he asked, knowing his voice sounded weaker than ever.

“Shoot babe, not at all. I was napping – you’ve been gone for like five hours straight and I was so tired I decided we were in a safe place – and I was using the bag as a pillow, but then it went hot, it started to tremble and shit, and… well…” He waved a hand at Hanzo, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Here you are, in all of your glory”.

“Sorry. I’ll go back to my place, it was not my intention to disturb you”. Every word hurt, and he still had no idea why.

McCree sat upright, suddenly fully awake despite the untamed mass of his hair, and his hand fell on Hanzo’s knee for a second. He removed it immediately.

“No, don’t go – an’ forgive me, honey, touchin’ you was… inappropriate”. He brushed his hands together and looked away. Hanzo curled on his side, his gaze still resting on the grey and blue shades of the desert around them. A clear night, and in sight nothing but dunes and rocks, just like the big one that shadowed the jeep.

“Where are we?”

“Middle of nowhere. I won’t say we’re not lost, but cheer up, we’ve got plenty of supplies. Those bastards had their car well stocked”. He stretched and sat with his back to the door, arms crossed and one leg casually thrown on the seat. Hanzo squeezed himself back some more not to touch him, and McCree got the hint, for he moved to a more cautious position. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not at all. I was… bothered”.

“For five hours straight? That sounds like hell”.

Hanzo sighed and looked at McCree from the corner of his eye. In the shadows his eyes looked completely black, his features almost too pronounced – but then there was that smile, and the stars on Hanzo’s tattoo flickered. He quickly tried to cover them with his hand, forcing his heart to slow down and be quiet.

“Not five hours. As I told you before time doesn’t really exist on my side of reality. For me, a mere handful of seconds has passed”.

“Oh”. McCree ruffled his hair and yawned, looking away from Hanzo with some effort. “Listen, if yer tired and wanna sleep I’ll stand guard. I don’t think we’ll have trouble for what’s left of the night, but…”

“Sleep? _Me_?” Hanzo’s eyebrows shot up his forehead and his mouth fell slightly open. “I shouldn’t…”

“Hey, darlin’, you said that yerself: either you go back to the lamp and rest, or you’ll have my same physical necessities”. McCree winked and tapped at his temple with the tip of his finger. “I may look weird but I’m not so dumb”.

What was worse? Staying here and standing the burning sensation lighting up his cheeks, or going back to his confinement and suffer Genji’s inquiry? Hanzo gritted his teeth in frustration and crossed his legs.

“I see. Well, good for you, Jesse”.

“Oh, good! Was it that difficult?”

“What?”

McCree smiled and arched his back with a groan, hands splayed in the air as he stretched some more.

“You called me by my name. We’re getting better, aren’t we?”

Hanzo didn’t have an answer for that. True enough, he was tired – that sort of fatigue that he had almost forgotten, the tension of muscles, his head feeling heavy and his eyes fluttering close.

He was about to let a sigh of pleasure escape his lips, but then he remembered.

With his physical form always came the punishment of his masters. His mouth twisted at the bitterness of the memory, but McCree was still looking at him.

“I’m glad yer here, Han”, he whispered softly. “Even if you don’t look much like the genies I’ve read of in the books”.

Hanzo was starting to doze off. For all the anger his memories brought along it was nice to feel the weight of his own body and how his back relaxed against the warm seat. He almost smiled.

“How am I supposed to look in your fantasy?”

“Well… it’s just that you don’t look from this part of the world. You’re too pale, and your eyes are… really pretty… I mean, you… alright, this sounded much better in my head, sorry, it was rude to say the least…”

It was tempting: sneak a peek at McCree and see if it was embarrassment what made him stutter. Even behind his closed lids, though, he could see his tattoo shine brighter, and he failed to hide it completely with his hand.

“I’m not human and from a place where space doesn’t exist: do you really think borders mean something in my realm? Besides”, and he moved to the side, adjusting against the door and cursing under his breath when the handle caught him in his ribs. “Have you stopped to consider that maybe this is not my real form? That this is how you see me because it’s what you want me to look like?”

A loud click made him open his eyes; he found McCree holding a lighter in front of the cigarette between his teeth, one elbow propped on the open window.

“Dunno, you quite fit my type. A bit short, perhaps, but I don’t really mind”.

“Hey!” Hanzo couldn’t suppress his outraged reply, and McCree giggled.

“See? I think this proves that’s what you really look like. Or so I hope”. He puffed out a cloud of smoke, and when he took another drag the embers painted his fingers and cheekbones in fiery red. “Be yerself, if you can. There’s no need to strike me, honey, ‘cause I’m already quite impressed”.

Hanzo rubbed his eyes and let the words sink in.

If McCree was as evil as his previous masters – and that ‘ _if’_ shocked Hanzo to the core – he sure was good at hiding his true nature.

_Or maybe I’m right, as is your instinct, brother, and he deserves your trust._

He shut his eyes closed to chase Genji’s voice away.

Sleep. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself something so trivial? He’d have been vulnerable, easy prey to any other mortal less gentle than McCree.

_Steal the lamp, get the genie._

His mind was already floating into the realms of dreams when the faint echo of low, soft-spoken words painted his memory.

_I’ll stand guard._

And trust succeeded where fatigue could not. He sighed deeply and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Thank you all for keeping up with me, it means the world <3 
> 
> I care a bit too much for Hanzo in this fic, I have to admit it. Maybe it's because his story hits too close to home, but writing his struggles was quite the journey. But you know, that's what writing is for me, and the promise of a happy ending is what keeps me going.
> 
> In the meantime, I'll be screaming in a corner and praying for some COOL SKINS PLS BLIZZARD give our dragon boy a cute outfit.
> 
> See you next week, or on tumblr @acupofgeek :3


	5. This Indiana Jones' bullshit is NOT gonna get me killed.

The jeep was properly stocked with everything but fuel. By dawn, the red light on the dashboard was flashing alarmingly, and McCree cursed under his breath. Sure, they travelled a long way since their escape, and not once he’d noticed their pursuers on their tails, but getting stuck in the middle of nowhere in a stolen car was not the best situation to be in.

He slowed down and glanced at the passenger’s seat.

Hanzo was still sound asleep, his cheek a bit squished against the window and his lips slightly parted.

 _Damn_.

Good thing the road was completely empty, or he would have ended hitting something or someone with how distracted he was by the sight. He knew he should be careful and not let that strikingly cute appearance make him forget Hanzo was an Ifrit, but it was hard to stay focused. Even harder to remember he was not human at all.

Even if his chest rose in slow breaths, even if his hair were tangled on his smooth skin and his mouth looked so painfully soft.

McCree swallowed hard. There were other things he’d better leave out – long fingers resting lightly on the tattooed arm, the glistening of gold against the pale expanse of his bare chest.

He knew Hanzo was _different_ , and yet he looked so real McCree couldn’t but consider him human. A very peculiar one, extremely hot _– no, scrap that, I’m not gonna take that route_ – but flesh and bones, just like him.

He breathed deeply until his mind went quiet again. Not really quiet, actually, since in the previous two days he’d escaped death too many times for his tastes.

_Well, that’s just another good reason to cool down, innit? I’ve got enough in my hands and the last thing I need is to give Hanzo the eye._

One more hour and the indicator was blinking faster, signalling they were nearly out of fuel. The sun was peeking from the horizon and its golden light painted in deep shadows the desert landscape.

How longer before the car would stop for good? Anxiety tingled in his hands and McCree tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

He had had no time to check the content of the bags in the trunk, too busy running away and too relieved when he’d identified a couple tanks of water. Maybe there was a GPS of sort? Some documents he could find useful?

He sighed and pressed his lips together in frustration. Whatever, they weren’t going very far in such conditions.

_Not very far, anyway, is still better than nowhere._

He insisted in a slow, steady pace, muscles clenching in concern at the low fuel levels flashing in front of him.

_Come on, I’m not askin’ fo’ much. Just a place to stay, a gas station, anything. Please!_

The thought bolted through his brain.

He still had two wishes, hadn’t he? And no matter how weird it all still sounded, they were _real_. Hanzo’s magic was real, and he could have used a hand right now.

He slowly turned his head to look at the sleeping Ifrit.

No. Not like that. Resorting to magic would only make Hanzo less tangible, and McCree shivered at the thought of forcing him to do something. The previous day’s confession had left him in shock, needing to shower to clean himself from other people’s atrocities; he knew it wasn’t his fault – hell, he’d barely touched Hanzo, even less after he’d learned of his past, in case physical contact might upset him – but he felt this constant need to apologize nonetheless.

He clenched his teeth and kept his eyes on the road as guilt crawled upon his skin. Hanzo was gorgeous and he was not immune to such temptations, but he knew how to keep his mind on a more rational and appropriate trail.

His eyes burned from the lack of sleep in the last days, but he was not actually tired. More nervous and confused by too many things. And concerned – shit, fuel was going down fast. And bruised.

All in all, tired would have been better.

He squinted in the sun, and at first he was sure it was a trick of his imagination, but when he shielded his eyes with his hand he saw a dark, square shape on the horizon. Cast carelessly in the middle of the desert, with a tall sign standing a bit slanting on the side.

A… what? McCree leaned his head forward to see better, and the more the car approached the building the more his smile spread on his face.

A gas station.

He stopped the jeep and rested his head on the wheel with a silent, exhausted laughter. One less problem to worry about – and yet the list remained impressive.

_Alright, Jesse, time to think clearly. Yer on the run on a stolen car and some bad guys are after you. And they probably what that adorable young man sleeping next to you, ‘cause he can do magic. What’s next?_

He sat back up and reached behind his seat to retrieve his hat. The gesture forced him to turn to Hanzo, and this time he couldn’t just look away.

 _Damn_ , he thought again when his heart skipped a beat. Hanzo looked so sweet in his sleep, without the anguish darkening his eyes and sarcasm twisting his lips.

_Nope, stop it now – yer not going to think of him that way. Get down to business and use that brain of yours for somethin’ more useful._

He rubbed his eyes and threw his head back.

Nothing inappropriate, just a bare necessity. He stretched his hand out and almost let it touch Hanzo’s shoulder, then he hesitated. Too much bare skin – better go for his leg? No way, red zone. McCree cleared his throat as his face heated up.

“Hanzo?” he called softly. His companion didn’t wake up, only snuggled closer to the door, his arms wrapped tightly around his body. McCree groaned and wiggled his fingers; he didn’t want to startle Hanzo – both out of kindness and of worry about how his magic could react if he frightened him.

Slowly, swallowing hard, he let his palm descend on Hanzo’s hand. The blue and gold tattoo was dull in the morning light, so different from the sparkling thing it had been just hours before.

_Alright. Nothing to be scared of, dude: gently wake him up and get shit done._

A deep breath and McCree touched Hanzo’s hand. A brush of his fingers, uncertain and quick, and Hanzo’s eyes shot open.

“Hey, honey, good morning”, he croaked, and he hadn’t meant his voice to sound that hoarse. He’d been silent for too long.

Hanzo blinked and looked down at McCree’s hand still hovering over his own. The stars on his tattoo shone brighter for a second, and his face went pink.

“What… what time is it?”

“Nine o’clock, and we’re in for a stop”. He couldn’t but smile at the faint blush on his companion’s high cheekbones, or at the way his hair looked dishevelled and tangled. “Slept well?”

“Yes, I…” Hanzo frowned and squirmed, peeling his back from the seat with a sticky sound and stretching his arms sideways. His closed fist touched McCree’s shoulder and Hanzo immediately drew back. A tiny smile tilted his lips and he looked down. “Yes. Unexpected”, he added in a steadier tone.

“Good, starshine, good”, and too late he realized how goofy he’d sounded. With another rub at the hair on the back of his neck McCree shrugged. “So, here’s the thing: we’re running dry, and down there”, he pointed at the gas station, “is our chance to get outta here. Thing is, you’re kinda… er…”

_Gorgeous. Pretty. Fascinating. Owner of the finest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. Smart. Mysterious._

“… f-flashy?” McCree tried to smile and felt like a total fool. Luckily, Hanzo only cocked an eyebrow and reciprocated that grin.

“Flashy? That’s new, but I won’t take it as an insult”.

“It’s not! Holy shit, you’re really – _flashy_. Let’s settle with that. What I was tryina say is that if there are some creepy fellas after me for having the lamp they may as well be after you, so maybe – if you agree – it would be better if you stayed outta sight?”

Hanzo’s frown deepened and McCree felt the familiar tickling of panic in his palms. Shit, was he messing things up again? Was Hanzo angry at him?

“If… if you want to, y’know, I’m not going to… I mean, you can stay if you prefer, told ya already, yer free to do as you please, but I was just…”

“Jesse, it’s fine. I understand, appreciate and share your concern”. The smile on Hanzo’s lips grew warmer for a moment, then his face hardened as he looked at the gas station. “You are most likely right. Many have witnessed my presence – too many already, and I suspect your people wouldn’t welcome magic. You didn’t, after all”.

“That’s right. Yer a smart lil’ one, aren’t you? I like it”, and he immediately cursed himself in his head. Hanzo didn’t seem to notice, his profile turned to the window.

A thick silence filled the car for a handful of seconds, then Hanzo straightened his back and looked at McCree with deep and serious eyes.

It was easy to get lost in there.

“I’ll go back to the lamp, but don’t hesitate to summon me if you need my – I mean, if you have a wish to make”, and he quickly melted into blue whirlwinds of smoke. The last thing McCree saw through a wave of – very wrong, very unexpected and so very problematic – longing was the sparkling of stars on Hanzo skin, and then he was gone. The lamp was still.

Luck was on their side that morning. Not only the gas station was on business and mercifully empty, but they had rooms too.

Cheap, dirty, scorching hot – and to be honest it was just _one_ single room, a little bigger than a cupboard – but available. The man at the counter, a scrawny creature with hollow cheeks and a crooked nose, asked no questions, happy to accept McCree’s money and to handle him the keys.

The car was parked behind the dismal building, out of sight but so near the window McCree was pretty confident he could have just jumped into it if necessary; he’d taken random routes, making abrupt turns every now and then just to make sure his pursuers had a hard time finding his track.

The keys clacked in the keyhole, and just to be sure McCree placed the only chair in the room under the handle. He closed the curtains, letting only some stripes of sunlight paint the badly plastered walls and checked around. A single, worn out bed under a lightbulb dangling from damaged cables, a small and dusty bathroom and nothing more.

His own bag and the second one he’d found in the trunk – a stiff, hard thing whose content he feared he could imagine – were heavy on his shoulders; he dropped them on the floor and threw himself on the bed, cringing as the mattress creaked and let out a puff of dust.

He needed this. Just a couple of minutes of truce, to let his back stretch for good and to savour the aches of the previous days’ ordeals.

 _If it hurts, I’m still alive_.

The hot air was stale, smelling of dust and old sheets, but the silence was a blessing, only broken by the reassuring little sounds coming from the front of the shop. Footsteps, whistling, a radio croaking quietly.

He was safe, for now.

 _They_ were safe.

He placed his hat on the pillow and let his long legs dangle from the brim; now that he was not in immediate life danger he could feel how the bruise on his shin still pulsated faintly, how his hands burned.

As his body relaxed on the bumpy mattress, his mind, too, slowly trailed away. Getting some decent sleep was tempting, and his eyes wanted to close and ban the bleak room from his sight.

Too tempting.

McCree sat up with a grunt and rubbed his hands on his face, now scruffier than ever. He held out a hand to the bag he’d snatched from the jeep, but mid-gesture he stopped and went for his own instead.

He just didn’t feel like being alone right now. The lamp was cold and heavy in his palms, and for a while McCree stood motionless, studying it closer.

It had been a marvel of craftsmanship and a promise of fame less than two days ago. Now he wasn’t that sure it wasn’t something else. Something more.

He slowly drew a fingertip over the inscriptions, wondering what they could mean and secretly convinced they no way could have told how marvelous was the person the lamp was hiding.

A piercing ache settled in his chest.

Summoning Hanzo would only be selfish, or worse, dangerous. Not for the act itself, but what if McCree was going to let embarrassment blind him enough to let his interest slip through his actions? What if he’d hurt Hanzo without meaning to?

_Maybe he’s better off without me. For now, at least._

With a sigh and a stretch at his strength of will he put the lamp down and slumped back on the bed, one arm on his eyes.

Lots of things to do, to worry about – and on top of that…

The scent went straight to his brain. McCree sat up with a start and breathed in that mysterious mixture of dust and stars that he’d learned to associate to Hanzo’s appearance, and he was not mistaken. Blue smoke all over the floor, crawling up his ankles, and in the blink of an eye the Ifrit formed in front of him.

McCree wanted to be surprised, even concerned, but the tightening in his chest relented and he let out a soft sigh when Hanzo turned to him, deep eyes crinkling at the corners in a tiny smile and hair flowing on his back.

“This… this time I’m pretty sure I didn’t rub the lamp”, immediately said McCree, moving on the bed to make room. “But you’re always more than welcome, darlin’”.

Hanzo’s blush was so sudden and bright McCree could have worried – a mortal man turning that color so quickly was not a good sign – but he could only blink and smile some more.

“An’ before you say it, no, don’t leave. Please”.

_So much for yer determination’ of keeping your interest fo’ yerself, McCree._

But the way Hanzo’s shoulders relaxed when he moved to the bed and sat cross-legged by the headboard erased any doubt from McCree’s mind.

“I won’t, Jesse. I just thought you could use some help”.

“Again, this ain’t no wish, okay? I just enjoy your company”.

Hanzo lowered his head, hiding his face behind the fall of his black hair, and for a dreadful second McCree feared he’d crossed some line.

Then the genie spoke, a harsh whisper that sounded almost angry. But not really.

“Then consider it a part of your f-first wish. You asked for my help, and you shall have it”.

McCree opened his mouth, but words didn’t come. They were stuck somewhere in his throat, behind a lump of emotion he couldn’t quite make out.

_Quick, do somethin’ before you die of confusion. It would be a shame, with all you’ve endured so far._

He cleared his throat and stooped to get hold of the bag he’d found on the jeep, laying it in his lap and unzipping it with his tongue between his teeth.

“Bloody hell”, he whispered, as the barrels of a couple of rifles sparkled darkly in the dim light. A trickle of sweat ran down the nape of his neck when he touched the black metal. It was warm. Deadly.

“So my assumption was right. Weapon dealers?” The mattress bounced when Hanzo moved nearer, and McCree nodded.

“That, or they really want to kill me. Fuck, it’s been over ten years since somebody’d wanted me dead and I didn’t miss the feeling”. It was hard to ignore the goosebumps on his arms, but he clenched his teeth and rummaged further. Bullets – not unexpected – and a long knife, a grey box that looked like a first aid kit, and inside an inner pocket something flat and rectangular. McCree’s heart leaped in his chest when his fingers pressed against the edges and his hand shook a bit when he opened the zip.

“Oh, fuck _yeah_!” he hissed, fishing what revealed to be an old phone with a cracked screen. He held it in front of his nose and turned to Hanzo with a grin. “You know what this thing is, starshine?”

Hanzo raised his eyebrows and shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling with sarcasm.

“A phone? I might have lost the last centuries but I’m not that out of date”. The gesture with which he took it from McCree’s grip looked playful.

“A backup plan”. He grabbed his own backpack and dragged it on the bed, and Hanzo shifted to make room.

McCree found his own phone, still blacked out after his fall – had it really been just two days? – and insistently pressed the on button. Predictably enough, it was still dead.

“See? This one’s gone for good, so…” He opened the device and slid the battery off, and with a tap of his fingers let the small sim card fall into his palm. “Pass me the other, would you?”

Hanzo did as he was asked, and again his fingers rested a second too long on McCree’s hand. They locked eyes – and McCree forgot for a moment what he was up to. He got lost in the fragile, shocked look on Hanzo’s face, with his lips slowly parting and the wave of fire rising from his throat to the sharp line of his jaw. The stars on his tattoo flickered so bright McCree had to look away, thus breaking that sudden, burning touch.

“Sorry”, he said for the umpteenth time, meaning it entirely. He almost dropped the sim card and fumbled with the phones, careful to keep his eyes on his hands. His neck, too, felt on fire.

“I… I have to call Gabe and I’d better not use my own phone – less likely to be tracked, if you know what I mean”. He slid the small card into its slot and pressed the power button with a shaky thumb. After a couple of seconds of thrilled wait, with Hanzo peeking from behind his shoulder ( _yer not feelin’ him breathe on your neck, he’s not so near his hair is tickling your arm_ ) the screen lit up in white and blue.

“Here we go! Ah, it’s good to be back online… well, for what little it could mean to you, I s’pose…”

“You’ll explain me – if… if you wish, of course”, and again he averted his eyes. The tip of his ears, peeking from the long curtain of his hair, was very red. McCree suppressed a moan that was only half frustration and strove to focus his attention on the simple process of dialling Gabe’s number.

It took him a while, with all the unread texts flooding the screen; he ignored them all, for now.

“He’ll yell at me, most likely. And threaten to kick my ass, use my balls as Christmas decorations, punch me so hard my ears will stop ringing in the next century…”

“He sounds… dangerous?” Hanzo, on his side, didn’t sound convinced, and McCree chuckled.

“Who, Gabe? Just short tempered, but he’s a friend. He cares”, and he suddenly felt young and lost, desperate for the guidance only Gabriel Reyes could provide him.

_I need help._

He’d been playing the adventurer too long, and the idea of having someone older and more competent ready to come to his aid was a relief almost too great to bear. His eyes prickled and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Green button. Silence. Long, painful moments of silence before the phone line gave signals of life.

McCree held his breath, ready for a roaring ‘ _you little shit’_ in his ear.

A ring. Two.

“ _Jesse? Jesse,_ dios mio _, is that you?”_

No yelling. No insults or snarky commentaries, no lecturing. McCree froze at how desperate Gabe’s voice sounded – he’d never heard him like that, and he felt blood leaving his face.

“Gabe, it’s me – are you…”

“ _Shit, you’re alive. Are you ok? Are you injured? Where are you? I’ll send someone to pick you up – anyone, I don’t care – oh fuck, kid, tell me you’re fine…_ ”

“Gabe – Gabe, it’s alright, I’m alive and well, but why are you… no, wait. _How_ are you?” Fear crawled up his skin and he found he couldn’t stand up. His legs felt lice ice blocks, his fingers shaking around the phone and his own voce none the steadier. Even Hanzo noticed, and McCree faintly perceived him leaning closer.

“ _We thought they’d got you, I feared you were dead, I can’t believe you’re fine – are you hurt? Wounded? You need to…”_

“Enough!” Too harsh and nervous, borderline hysterical. The suffocating room looked darker, too small and hot to live. “Sorry. I just… Gabe, what’s up? I was expecting some scolding for running away into the night, where’s my scolding? I need it. Scold me, come on, it’s better than this… thing. Whatever it is”. The feeling of something wrong – even in his current, nonsense situation – was a scorching burden on his heart.

“ _You ran away. Smart kid, you ran away and I’m so happy to hear you did something so stupid…”_ His usual smooth tone was gone, and in its place was a trembling, raucous whisper filled with dread. _“The camp. They attacked the camp_ ”.

McCree had to hold out a hand to steady himself to the bed frame. His head was spinning and the world went darker, as if someone was messing with the contrast of a TV screen. He tried to speak but only a choked moan escaped his lips, and Gabe continued.

 _“… it was like, 3 a.m. when we heard them. They started to shoot before even asking questions, Ana took one down but…_ ”

“Is she alright? Gabe, tell me yer all fine”. His voice broke and tears glimmered on his lashes.

“ _Don’t worry about us, Ana and Fareeha are safe and sound_ ”.

“And you?”

A moment of silence, then Gabe chuckled sadly.

“ _Alive and kicking, kid. A bit bruised but I’ve had worse. But you scared me to death, Jesse – those men shot one of the security guys in the face, there was blood all over the place…_ ”

“Oh fuck. Fuck”, he groaned, cold and quivering fingers pulling his hair. His breath was labored and sweat coated his forehead. Despite the heat he started to shake for real.

“ _You were nowhere to be found and… shit, I crawled all over the camp to look for you after those bastards were gone. You have no idea how I felt when I got to your tent and saw it was empty…”_

A sob shook his chest.

“I’m sorry, Gabe, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I…”

“ _Not now,_ niño _– where are you? What’s happened_?”

McCree rubbed his fist on his wet cheek and sniffed. He wanted to speak, to explain, but that weight of tears in his chest was too much for his voice.

The unexpected light touch of a cool hand on his shoulder turned his breath into another sob; he glanced sideways to find Hanzo looking at him with a fierce mixture of concern and tenderness. He tried to smile, to reassure him, but only nodded once. Hanzo didn’t move and McCree found he could breathe a bit more easily.

“Told ya, I left the camp something like one hour after you visited me. I… I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving Harut and I went to the other site, the one up North”.

“ _You did_ what?” Here it was, the good old Gabriel Reyes, and McCree could picture his dark face flushing into outrage and the vein bulging on his neck. It was good to have him back, and he relaxed a bit.

“Hey, it was all for good, wasn’t it? Also I found something, I…”

Hanzo’s fingertips flinched on his skin. The two of them shared a long, meaningful stare and McCree slowly shook his head.

“A… A treasure. A real one, Gabe, you have no idea, and paintings and inscriptions and… well, and a band of mercenaries as well”.

“ _Mercenaries. You too_ ”.

“Yeah, sure, but did you hear me? A treasure, Gabe! And…”  
“ _I don’t give a single fuck about the treasure,_ pendejo!” Here came the yelling, and McCree had to move his phone from his ear, wincing. “ _It’s you I’m worried about! What did they do to you?”_

“Oh, er – nothing, really. They did try to shoot me, alright – in two different occasions – and I had to run away and jump down a cliff into the river, but I’m fine! I swear!”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ Jesse McCree I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you’ll…”_

Despite everything – he was still terrified and had never felt more in danger before – McCree let out a wet snicker. Hanzo smiled too, absent-mindedly rubbing soothing circles on McCree’s back.

He let Gabe rant for a while, allowing himself a moment of weakness and leaning on Hanzo with a sigh.

 _“… I’ll kill you_!” A grunt, a loud, if muffled by the phone, thud – and McCree knew Gabe had just punched the nearest wall – and the voice on the other side of the communication went back to a quieter tone. “ _Alright, alright. Back to business_ ”. Gabe breathed heavily a couple of times. “ _Who were those guys? Do you remember anything?_ ”

“Uh. I dunno, they were heavily armed”, and he looked down at the rifle-filled bag. “Technical gear, nothing recalling a specific organization. And…” From his memory a sharp, pale face, with grey eyes and black hair, emerged slowly. “A man. Big, buff, square jaw – think of a dark-haired Ivan Drago”.

Silence. Gabe didn’t tell anything for such a long time McCree frowned.

“Hey, you still there?”

“ _They’re the same. The man’s name is – well, not his name, but his bandmates called him Doomfist. Quite pretentious, I know… Ana overheard two of them talking as she was sneaking away. They turned my office upside down and…_ ” A huff, a rustling – McCree knew Gabe was ruffling his beard in frustration. “ _They took our maps and everything_ ”.

“This explains why they ended up in the northern site”.

“ _They were looking for something very specific. For all their caution I caught something about an artefact, something unbelievably precious for what I guessed. I was kind of busy not getting shot, and maybe breaking a couple of noses in the process… but I’m quite sure it was all about a treasure, a jewel of some kind_ ”.

“I don’t think so”, and McCree bit the tip of his tongue. Too much information.

Gabe fell silent again, but this time it was different. Suspect and doubt seeped through the concern.

“ _Jesse, is there anything you should tell me_?”

Once more McCree looked at Hanzo, whose hand didn’t leave his shoulder.

His beautiful, bitter, smart companion, someone he wished he could call a friend. And on a side note, a supernatural being with magical powers. What if he fell into the wrong hands, such as those of a warlord greedy enough to wreak havoc in a harmless archaeological site?

Hanzo’s words came back to his mind.

_I can’t say no if a master wishes for something. Ever._

He lifted a hand and placed firmly on Hanzo’s, squeezing it lightly. The Ifrit’s eyes grew wide for a moment and his tattoo sparkled.

McCree didn’t look away.

“Yeah, there is”. Another squeeze to hold Hanzo in place. “But nothing I can tell you right now”.

“ _For fuck’s sake, McCree, it’s your safety we’re talking about! Tell me what you…”_

“No, no, Gabe, you don’t understand and I can’t explain it – just know that I’m safe and I’ll try to stay so. Where are you now?”

“ _If you think I’ll let you reply to a question with another question you’re so very wrong, kid. Tell me where you are and I’ll come and pick you up. Now_ ”.

“Listen, it’s not… a good moment. I have something to settle first, but I swear to God I’ll tell you everything later”. He could have let go of Hanzo’s hand. Sorta. “I’m going to Harut. I have no idea where I am right now, but we’re heading there and…”

“ _We_?”

Hanzo moaned and rolled his eyes, slapping his forehead with his free hand. The sound resonated in the small room.

“ _Jesse, who’s with you?”_

“I… I… Gabe, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you now. I’m not in-no, ok, I _am_ in trouble but not in danger, not right now. If you…”

“ _This Indiana Jones' bullshit is gonna get you killed, you dumbass!”_

“It won’t, I promise! Gabe, man, trust me. Find me in Harut and I’ll give you all the answers I owe you, ok? Make it – I dunno, three days?” McCree let his fingers slip and interlace with Hanzo’s. He was so distraught by his phone call he forgot common sense; the Ifrit blinked and his tattoo sent sparkles in the shadows.

“ _Jesse, don’t. Don’t hang up, don’t do anything stupid, don’t leave…”_

“Sorry, boss. Gotta go. I’ll take care”, and he pressed the red button on the phone, turning it off instantly.

The only sound breaking the quiet stillness of the room came from outside. Clinking of glass, a sneeze. McCree stared at the black screen for what looked like hours, and his fingers moved on their own. A light, trembling caress on Hanzo’s hand.

Attack on the camp. Gabe wounded. Fareeha and Ana barely escaping – and Ana shooting a man in the meantime. That was more than enough to blow his mind.

On top of that, now he knew Doomfist (damn, what a crappy, B-movie villain stage name) had been after Hanzo for a long time.

_No, not Hanzo. The lamp: they don’t care about who’s inside, they don’t know how his ears turn pink when he blushes, or how he doesn’t want to hurt people but can’t refuse if asked._

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist around Hanzo’s hand, and finally realized they’d been holding hands for the last minutes. McCree jumped and let him go, mouth falling open and heart racing wild in his ears. Hanzo covered his mouth with his fist and turned a nice shade of red, badly trying to cover his decorated arm with one hand.

“Sorry, I… sorry, starshine, that was… too much, I shouldn’t have… I didn’t want to make you…”

“I know. It’s… it’s fine, Jesse, you didn’t do anything wrong”, and despite what looked like the most painful embarrassment ever he cracked one of his tiny smiles.

McCree lost it. He hadn’t even realized there were still tears in his eyes and now he brushed his forearm to his eyes; he was still shaking.

“It’s a mess. They’re in danger and… well, maybe it’s not my fault, but…”

“It’s _not_ your fault. Don’t ever doubt this”.

McCree couldn’t look at him, not now that he felt so broken, that his heart bled for his friends and the perils they were into. Now that he could still feel Hanzo’s soft skin under his palm.

“I know, and yet I feel responsible. For them – for _you_ ”.

It was getting worse. He brought his knees to his chest and hid his face in his arms, wrapped around his legs; no matter if he was a grown man nearing his thirties, with a shady past and an adventurous present. He felt frail, even more so when he thought about those he loved that were risking their lives – or worse – because of the mess he caused.

In the darkness he found no answers, only more panic.

And then strong arms were wrapped around his shoulders, silky hair soft against his cheek. McCree held his breath and opened his eyes, without daring to raise his head.

Hanzo was holding him, slender fingers brushing McCree’s neck and his head on his shoulder.

McCree didn’t really want to speak, but words fell from his mouth, soft and cracked.

“I only wanted to discover something beautiful and make the world a little brighter for it”. To hell with pride: he didn’t care if it made him look pathetic. He snuggled closer and leaned in Hanzo’s embrace.

“I know”, he said again, his voice warm against McCree’s ear. “Maybe you really are… something else”.

McCree felt the contraction in his muscles as he swallowed, the pale throat moving against him.

“Hanzo, I won’t let them take you away”.

 _From me_.

“I’m starting to believe that too”.

A soft whisper, so sweet McCree could have melted. He slowly sat up and turned around.

Hanzo was so close he could see all the small details he’d missed before. A small bump on his nose, how pink his lips were, the black lock brushing his forehead.

His stars were shining so bright McCree could see his eyes too, big, deep and hooded as their gaze travelled down McCree’s face. To his mouth.

A familiar and very inappropriate tension bolted through his body and settled low in his groin.

He tensed at once and looked away, pulling back with a cough and a desperate sense of loss when Hanzo’s arms slid from his skin.

“We – er – we can spend some time here. Rest, get something to eat and stuff like that. We’re both worn out, and I…”

_Want to kiss you. Oh God I want it so much I can’t stand it, yer too perfect for this world and that look in your eyes scares the shit out of me ‘cause I’m trying to resist this thoughts and I feel weak already._

“… could use a shower”.

“Oh. Well, yes, you do”. Hanzo straightened his back and lifted his chin, going back to his usual, regal composure. He was still shining faintly and his fists trembled a little.

McCree stood up and quickly turned his back to the Ifrit, all too aware of how tight his pants felt and looked right now.

A shower sounded like a good idea. To clear his mind and, most importantly, cool down his blood.

As he approached the bathroom, though, he felt Hanzo looking at him and a faint sigh.

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You! All of you out there! You're precious and I'll never thank you enough.  
> Some notes on this new chapter:  
> -Doomfist (the third) is the bad guy, yup. We know little about the character, so I felt safe to use him as a villain. It's some kind of artistic (?) license, I didn't feel like creating an OC just for this purpose.  
> -Gabriel Reyes is a treasure and must be protected at all costs.  
> -UST. UST everywhere.
> 
> Love you all <3


	6. Broken things

Hanzo didn’t move from the mattress, his hands upturned in his lap. A blade of light fell on his arm, painting his skin gold and dulling the definite sparkle of the tattooed stars.

For long he sat there, still and silent; the fluttering, wild rhythm of his heartbeat almost covered all the other sounds surrounding him.

Did he really hug McCree? That scruffy, loud mortal who plagued him as his master? With his non-stop chattering, his ridiculous hat, with a voice low and soft that broke with emotion all too often and those dark golden eyes – worried, crinkling at the corner with laughter, lingering a moment too long and then drifting away…

Hanzo could hear Genji’s voice, his petulant ‘Told you so’, and he took his head in his hands.

He was going insane. Thousands of years of self-control and steady mind and now he was pining over someone he was supposed to serve and despise.

The splash of water roared over his thoughts, loud as they were. Hanzo combed his fingers through his hair and hunched his shoulders with a shaky sigh.

He had to admit it, McCree was handsome in his own ruffled way. Still, there was more beyond his broad shoulders and strong arms. The time he spent with him – and arguing it was pointless: Hanzo _wanted_ to share McCree’s company and had freely chosen to leave the lamp for him – led him to realize something. McCree _cared_ too much. About his friends, about perfect strangers, about Hanzo himself. Sure, he was a treasure hunter of some kind, but it was clear that he didn’t mind wealth or glory alone.

He wanted to make the world a brighter, more colorful place.

With a moan, Hanzo rubbed his palms on his face and let his arm drop down his sides. Head thrown back, eyes on the cracked ceiling, he let the sound of running water wash away his concerns.

 _… yes, but I_ did _hug him. Because he needed it, and because I wanted to…_

Hanzo turned absently to the source of the sound and squirmed on the bed.

The door was half open, and the dazzling light coming through the small window traced McCree’s silhouette against the white shower curtain.

A very detailed, stark silhouette.

As his eyes opened wide Hanzo followed the messy trail of clothes shed on the ground. McCree’d left his boots by the threshold, his socks balled on the floor. Part of his black, ripped jeans peeked from behind the door.

As if entangled in a spell Hanzo’s gaze followed the scattered clothes and went back to the shower.

_I shouldn’t be looking, it’s unseemly. It’s wrong, it’s…_

… unavoidable. Hanzo gulped in silence, his mouth suddenly dry when McCree threw his head back under the stream and the sun outlined his dripping hair, his nose, the long profile of his throat, those big hands running down his broad chest and then some more.

It was impossible to miss and Hanzo abruptly turned his head, panting lightly: the unmistakable shape of McCree’s erection arching up to his stomach.

Blood thundering in his head, in his throat and - he stifled another moan – in his groin, Hanzo covered his face with his hands.

 _I should go back to the lamp. There’s already so much at stake with Doomfist wanting me without this pointless_ thing _. Complication. Madness._

His palms slid down his chin and another word stuck to the sentence.

 _Crush_.

Another stealth look at the bathroom, filled with a painful blend of shame and desire, showed him that McCree was not sideways anymore. Hands raised to rinse his hair, shoulders and arms contracting slowly, thick thighs slightly parted – Hanzo felt the urge to run away immediately.

He bolted to his feet only to realize, to his horror, that his baggy silken pants were doing a poor job in hiding his own extremely untimely arousal. He stared at his crotch, the tented striped fabric, and worried his lip.

It was not just inappropriate, it was unexpected. Saying it hadn’t happened in centuries was an understatement. So apparently, with all he’d been through during his imprisonment, he still had _this_ in him.

Hanzo wanted to think clearly, he really did, but he didn’t feel like himself at the moment. Control was the very essence of his being, his emergency solution, and he knew better than feel anything but disdain for his masters.

And yet he’d been sincere in confessing – to himself first, and then out loud – that maybe McCree was different.

It started out as a prickle in his fingers, a blur in his eyesight that got worse the more he insisted on such thoughts.

Panic shook him to the core.

That attraction was already deeper than skin level and Hanzo was quickly losing his grip on his own mind. The more he considered it – hell, he’d been really close to kiss McCree just a handful of minutes before – the worse it was. He rubbed an unsteady hand on his sweaty forehead (and he never sweated, what was this madness?) and did a desperate last stand at slowing his breath down.

_I’m definitely giving too much importance to what is nothing but a passing infatuation. Jesse’s easy on the eye and nothing more, why do I have to overreact?_

But then again, Genji was laughing in his head. Hanzo almost slapped his own face in frustration when he realized something out of place.

The silence.

No more running water, and as he rose his head he swallowed a wail. McCree, his back to the still open door, in his jeans and nothing else, was rubbing a threadbare towel in his hair; when he turned around, a damp lock dangling on his forehead, a shy smile stretched his lips and he threw the towel on the floor.

“So – er – I’d ask you if you want to shower too, but even after our adventures you still look as fresh as a daisy”. He grabbed his t-shirt and slid an arm into a sleeve. “But anyway…”

Hanzo gaped, skin burning and head tragically blank as he watched the black fabric unroll down McCree’s chest and stomach. Horrified, the Ifrit found his own eyes traveling down the dark stripe of hair disappearing under the waistband of McCree’s underwear.

The mortal was speaking – as usual, that mouth was never quiet _and who knows if he’s still so loud even when…_

“Hey, starshine, are you alright?”

With a shiver Hanzo roused and shook his head just in time to catch McCree’s intent stare. In a last glimpse of dignity, he realized the tell-tale condition of his pants and quickly shifted to a half ethereal form, at least from the waist down.

“What? Why do you… ask…”

Good heavens, his voice sounded like the cawing of a crow. McCree approaching him, with that stupid t-shirt clinging to his still damp middle section, didn’t make things easier.

“You look upset. Is everything ok?”

A snort, a twist of his lips and Hanzo struggled to turn his face into his trusted tight mask.

“You know it’s not. We’re hunted, and no more than one shower ago you shared my same concerns”.

“Yeah, sure”. He stepped closer, and now he was at arm’s reach. Hanzo’s fingertips tingled with the foolish need to reach out and touch him. “But you look…”

They made eye contact, and McCree’s gaze went soft and warm, like a caress on Hanzo’s skin, from his cheekbone to his exposed throat. He gulped and floated back, still unable to look away.

“Distracted. I know”.

“By… by what?”

_Do you really have to ask, you fool of a mortal?_

“Oh, nothing, besides the obvious threat of a warlord on our track and what would happen if they take the lamp from you! Nothing at all”, he lied. The tension in his nerves made the blue smoke twirl and crawl up McCree’s legs.

_What if it was my hand on his calves and up his thighs? My fingers on his body, skin on skin?_

“Well, it’s scary, but I see it’s affectin’ you more than I’d expected. I miss yer legs already, Han”, and he smiled some more.

“You’re not helping me”, he groaned in reply, and let McCree make out whatever he wanted from these words. Hanzo sighed and looked away, squinting at the sudden blaze of his tattoo. “I need… some time. Alone”.

“What… sugar, I have to ask you again: are you alright?” McCree moved swiftly as if to place a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, but stopped before he could touch him. Something in the dark depths of the Ifrit’s soul roared in disappointment, hungry for that sensation, but Hanzo shook his head.

“I’ll be. Just – I have to find my peace. Can you survive without me?”

“It’s not just your legs I’ll miss but sure, I’ll do my best. Yer makin’ me worry tho, Hanzo…”

Desire – naming the sensation only made it more dangerous, but Hanzo couldn’t hold the word back – gave way to an excruciating sting of affection.

He cared too much. He cared for real.

“Keep the lamp near and call me anytime, Jesse. I… I won’t let anything happen to you”.

As the confession slipped from his tongue, so true it hit him like a kick in the face, Hanzo quickly returned to his realm, but even there the presence of McCree haunted him. His eyes, the smell of his skin, his voice…

In the void, there was no flesh to contain his desire and yet Hanzo could still hear the blood running through his veins.

He curled in what he imagined was a corner of his cell and failed in his desperate chase for calm.

With all he’d been through here he was, burning with unwanted lust for a mortal. Even leaving out his punishment, the abuses he’d suffered at the hand of his previous masters and how he’d taught himself to loathe the human race, falling for a man was a mistake. They were from two different worlds, and none could fit in the other’s.

He knew there was a fault in his reasoning but the turmoil in his soul prevented him from seeing clearly through it.

Hanzo was trembling. Even as a spirit he felt the walls around him echo with his confusion, and for the first time since his imprisonment he understood that he needed something.

 _Someone_. As annoying as he could be, with all their struggles and quarrels and the tragedy that scarred their relationship, Hanzo needed the advice of the only person he could count on.

“Genji…”

The clutching of his throat, the oppression on his chest was still there. Hanzo curled over himself and trembled.

“Genji, I need your help”.

_He won’t come. Why should he? First you tried to kill him, then he forgave you and tried to offer you his support, and you drove him away._

It hurt and was getting worse. Even without a body to show a physical reaction Hanzo felt the crawling along his being, the sense of suffocation and the darkness thickening at the borders of his reality.

And in that darkness, a sudden green sparkle shone.

“Brother?”

Genji’s voice was clear of his usual sarcasm. Hanzo wanted to answer him but was too distressed to think.

“Hanzo, I’m here, what’s happening?”

No reply, only a thin bolt of anguish. Beyond the barrier that separated them Genji’s presence showed in the bright handprints on the walls. Almost real, almost human.

Anxiety got the best of him and Hanzo simply couldn’t move.

“I’m here”, said Genji again, and for the first time in ten thousand years, fear was in his voice again. But not for his life: for his brother’s. “Hanzo, please, talk to me. You’re scaring me – what’s wrong with you? Did your master…”

“N-No”. The mention of Jesse dragged a broken sound from Hanzo’s despair.

“Good. I’m not leaving, can you hear me? It’s going to be fine, you’re not alone, brother”.

Oh, Genji… his infatuation for mankind taught him this nonsense. _Compassion_?

But the shell of Hanzo’s contempt was starting to crumble. After a while he shifted and reached Genji, and in his troubled state even the blue shade of his ethereal form seemed to send weird sparkles.

“Genji, what… what is this _thing_?”

A moment of silence and a snicker that had nothing of Genji’s typical mirth.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you try to fool me!” A burst of rage, dulled by the hysterical tension still gripping him. “You said that so many times – we’re bound, aren’t we? You can feel what I…”

“Fine, fine, I got it. Yes, what do you want to know?”

The bond went both ways, and to his surprise Hanzo could perceive his brother’s emotions. He’d never stopped to consider it before, preferring to close his mind to Genji’s feelings to punish himself.

Genji was hesitant, that he’d heard already, but beneath the surface was a world of expectations. Of hope and fear. Hanzo faltered and something similar to a shiny, incorporeal hand formed from his spirit, matching Genji’s prints on the wall.

“Was that what you looked for in mortals? This… this crazy lust, this…”

“Lust, you say? Oh, brother mine, that’s not it. Not only”.

“But I… I looked at him, and he was… he is… and my body…”

“Hanzo, there’s a word for your reaction. It’s a term I learned from the dreams of men”.

Hanzo nailed his cage, eager for reassurance.

“Tell me, brother, what is it?”

“You got a boner”.

“A… _what_?”

Genji chuckled, but there was no mischief in his voice. Not too much, at least.

“You desire this mortal, and this is the easy part. You could have him, so what’s the problem?”

Had he had lungs he’d have choked.

“I don’t want to…”

“Oh, Hanzo”, Genji dragged the sound. “You’re the worst liar ever”.

“But it’s been… three days? I’ve known Jesse for three days!”

“And you call him by his name”.

More sparkles, and the air in the lamp was starting to feel too warm.

“He… He asked me to. Not a wish, but… anyway, that’s not important!”

“It is. There’s power in names, you know? But you’re missing the point: time is not so relevant for us, so scrap the three days’ concern. What else is troubling you?”

Here came the moment of truth. Hanzo’s blue fingers slid down the wall and he sighed, almost tearfully.

“I don’t know. It’s… It’s wrong. I can’t feel this after what my other masters…”

“But he’s not your other masters, and your stars have never been brighter. Brother, can’t you see? You’re feeling something – good and powerful as it can be, but your soul’s been cold for ages. It’s ok to be scared”.

Hanzo huffed a bitter laughter.

“Now you even speak like a mortal”.

“There are cracks in these walls. You can’t see them, but I do: light shines through them. Light and happiness”.

“What happiness can there be for someone like me? I don’t…”

“… deserve it, yes, the same old story. Spare me your self-pity, would you? This is a convenient excuse”.

“How dare you… you little…” He swallowed his anger and kept it safe for another time, because right now all he needed was some wisdom.

_I must be really desperate if I have to search for it in Genji._

“Anyway, Genji, in the first place he’s probably not interested. He’s still scared of me”.

Genji grunted but didn’t interrupt him, and Hanzo stuttered with a huge chunk of uncertainty rooted deep inside him. “More importantly, he’s a mortal and I’m a spirit”.

“With a perfectly functioning human form, and while you’re not as pretty as I am – you know I’m right, come on – you can enjoy the pleasures of the flesh”.

“That’s not what I meant!” The sparkles turned into small flames under the pressure of embarrassment and tension. “Humans have… what? Well, sure less than one century to live, while we’re immortal”.

“Yes, they die, and their spirits come to our realm”.

“A realm I’m not allowed into any more”. Shame turned to pain, a dull suffering churning in the pit of his soul. “I can’t…”

“Hanzo – listen. You’re running too much, and again you’re denying yourself the forgiveness you deserve”.

“I can’t leave this prison! It’s forever, I chose it and there’s no turning back!”

Genji fell silent and his light faded, only to come back a moment later, stronger than before.

“There are ways for you to break your chains, you know this, right?”

“I won’t ask him”, snapped Hanzo.

“You’re the proudest, most stubborn idiot I’ve ever met, and I’ve met many! Stop being so…”

“ _I won’t use him!”_

He would have slapped a hand on his mouth, but the damage was done.

He felt Genji hovering nearer; his large eyes were so attentive Hanzo could actually make out his whole face in the darkness.

“Say it again”.

“No”.

“Hanzo, you answered your own doubts! You _like_ this mortal!”

“No way!”

“Stop being such a chicken and go for it. What you’ve just said is so wonderful, so important you don’t even...”

“Shut up!”

He floated away, more frustrated than before. Genji was right, and to use McCree’s words for such a situation: _fuck_.

_I will not ask Jesse anything, never. I won’t even speak to him of this possibility of freedom because then he’d think I’m being friendly just to have something in exchange._

“… then _why_ are you being friendly?”

“Out of my head, Genji. You’re presuming too much”.

A tap on his cell and a muffled laugh.

“You’re the one who called me, brother, I’m only trying to help”. Then his tone sobered. “Are you better?”

Hanzo’s core felt as heavy as before, but at least his anxiety had subsided. He cracked a smile for Genji and nodded.

“A bit. Thank you, little brother”.

Genji’s essence twitched at the affectionate tone.

“Woah. I like this new Hanzo”.

“Don’t push your luck…”

“And you: don’t waste your time, come on!”

He disappeared with a crystalline trail of laughter and Hanzo took a deep breath.

Genji was right, and his answers were out there.

The gesture ended in a blaze of white light, and without even realizing it he floated out of the lamp in the near darkness of the hotel room.

The chair was still in place, stuck under the handle, and the light bulb was off, a sad, dusty thing swinging slowly from the ceiling. On the floor, a slice of grayish light coming from the open window crept across the slumped shapes of the bags and glimmered on the lamp.

McCree, sitting on the windowsill with his gun on his knees and a cigarette between his fingers, this time didn’t flinch at Hanzo’s appearance. He simply tilted his hat and took a drag; the red ember painted his lips in fire and made his eyes shine for a second, before a cloud of white smoke hid his face.

“Hey. I was waiting for you”.

Hanzo stretched his legs and took a step toward him, surrendering to the tightness in his chest.

“Have you slept?” he asked, leaning his shoulder to the window and checking the outside world. The desert slept, silent and yet alive in the hidden life of its creatures.

McCree threw the cigarette away; the butt bounced against their jeep’s hood and died in the night.

“Not really. Maybe some twenty minutes, not much more”.

His voice was little more than a whisper and Hanzo spoke in the same soft tone. He sat by his side on the windowsill and crossed his ankles.

“Worried?”

“Always. I keep on thinking – what if they come and take you? I wouldn’t be able to…”

“Jesse, they won’t”, and in a rush of emotion that would have made Genji really proud he took McCree’s hand, pressing their fingers on the gun he was holding. “We’ll be safe and out soon”.

McCree’s lips parted in a warm smile that made the chords of Hanzo’s heart vibrate and sing.

“And then what?” he asked; a gust of warm wind moved the bangs on his forehead.

“And then…”

Hanzo looked down at their hands and McCree ran his thumb on his wrist.

“Starshine, you saved my life and I’ll forever be grateful for your magic, but sometimes…” A sigh, and his eyes – black in the dusk – met Hanzo’s, drawing a weak sob from his throat. “Sometimes I wish you were only a man”.

A man. Mortal, frail, with no powers.

Free from his chains.

Hanzo settled on the sill and his bare foot brushed McCree’s leg.

“Sometimes I wish that too”.

The sound that floated from McCree’s mouth could have been a sigh or a chuckle.

“This sounds more like one of your lines, Han, but careful what you wish for”.

“For it might become true?”

They were leaning closer with every word. A big hand, delicate as a dream, fluttered up Hanzo’s arm, leaving a flash of stars and goosebumps in its trail.

“I still can’t believe yer real”, and his fingers found an inky black strand of hair, let it flow in their gentle grasp and fall back on Hanzo’s skin.

“I’m different but not less real than you are”. McCree was bigger and was arching over him, their noses almost touching. Hanzo lifted his hand and his fingertips hesitated on the strong jawline, with its bushy dark beard and up, on high cheekbones and oaken locks.

He wanted this. To touch him, feel the warmth of his skin, to see McCree close his eyes and breath loud, leaning in his caress.

For the first time since he could remember he wanted something for himself – to share this sense of closeness with someone. No obligation, no masters. Just the two of them.

“Jesse, I…”

His hand moved beyond the reach of his desperate control and rested on McCree’s cheek, eliciting a quiet moan from him. The sound died in their shared breath, and Hanzo yielded to the push of his instinct. He covered what little space was still between them and placed his lips on McCree’s.

Hanzo could have sworn his ribcage was about to burst at that almost chaste touch. He breathed in McCree’s scent – his skin, smoke and soap – and shivered in the tension that jolted through his body.

His head spun, his heart swelled behind his ribs and roared his need for this – for _more_ – so loud it scared him. Hanzo backed away, and the small sticky sound their lips made when the parted made him tighten his grip on McCree’s hair.

Their eyes seemed unable to unlock and McCree’s hand was hot, unsteady on Hanzo’s arm.

A moment. All eternity. They stared at each other in complete silence, unless his own heartbeat was really as loud as Hanzo perceived it in his ears.

That shy kiss was the sparkle that ignited a fire. Where Hanzo was still fumbling for words, for an explanation or a next move, McCree simply reacted. He grabbed him by the shoulders and crushed their lips together, pulling Hanzo in his arms.

This time there was no hesitation, only hunger and need. Hanzo moaned when his mouth opened and the first brush of tongue washed away the remains of his doubts. Warm and wet, flicking against his lips and his own tongue, teeth closing on his lower lips – a tug that Hanzo welcomed with a shiver and another muffled sound that crushed the barriers of his own shame.

He didn’t care. This was what he _wanted_ , and as he cupped McCree’s jaw in one hand and drew in him for more kisses, heated and panting as they were, he found himself lost in a frenzy of desire he couldn’t tame. Somewhere in their desperate kissing he’d moved from his sitting position, and now he was standing between McCree’s legs, his hard thighs pressing his hips and hands firmly grabbing his sides.

They broke apart for air and not a second more, because Hanzo’s mouth was immediately at McCree’s throat, nipping at the soft skin and then at the rough patches of stubble, and eventually at his lips again, a deeper kiss he felt he could drown into. The touch of fingers up his sides and back, with the hard edges of the gun, kept him in the tide, and without realizing it Hanzo rocked his hips forward. McCree panted hard against his mouth and buckled up in response. Hard, burning – the both of them, caught in the same frantic dance.

McCree’s tongue swept Hanzo’s lips and sunk again in his mouth, and Hanzo let his hands fall from McCree’s face and wander down his torso; he could feel the brush of his erection under his palm and the sharp intake of breath against his mouth, and his own skin started to tingle with the necessity of touching him, feeling him come undone under his touch. The hem of McCree’s t-shirt rolled up in his fist and Hanzo slid his fingers underneath, shaking at the sensation of warm skin and the twitch of muscles.

And suddenly the melody in his blood pitched in a wrong note. Hanzo felt it even before McCree could speak.

“Wait – honey, wait, I can’t…”

Hanzo froze and let his hands fall to his sides, lust changing instantly in shame and confusion.

“What… did I do anything wr…”

“No! You didn’t, it’s me and I… I…”

His hands cupped Hanzo’s face and he gently knocked their foreheads together. Hanzo let out a whimper as a wound to his pride cut open and bled, but McCree held him in place with his shuddering grip and fiery eyes.

“We can’t”, he breathed out. “It would be wrong, Hanzo. It…”

Hanzo stumbled with words, losing his grasp on angry and cold retorts he just couldn’t say out loud. Instead, he only managed a soft whine that twisted the knife in his heart.

“ _Why_?”

McCree’s fingers sunk in his hair, and his voice was a hopeless whisper. Hanzo hated himself as he discovered that he still wanted to kiss him, lips itching for contact.

“You told me of… your masters before me. I’m not like that, I… I don’t want to…”

Uproar behind the closed door. Footsteps, words in Arabic, the muffled hiss of a silenced gunshot and a thud.

McCree tensed and a shock of alarm ran through Hanzo’s body. They stared at each other, motionless, for a second, and in their eyes all passion and desire were gone. Only fear was left, and McCree’s lips moved without a sound.

_It’s them._

The door rolled on its hinges and Hanzo jumped back, shielding McCree with his body. Another kick, and plaster crumbled from the doorframe.

“We’re not done with this yet”, he hissed, shooting McCree a quick and furious look.

“I suppose we’re not – _fuck_!”

The handle exploded with such power the chair’s headrest shattered; the door banged open and Hanzo snarled. The yellow light from the main room shone on a crimson puddle on the floor, and a scrawny man lay facedown in his own blood. In front of him, framed by the darkness of their room, two men with rifles.

Soon, just one. McCree’s gun fired before Hanzo could even think of a reaction, and got the man square in the chest. Blood sprayed all around and the body crumpled to the floor, but McCree good aim, if impressive, proved not to be that useful.

More dark shadows were gathering outside of their room, for all Hanzo could see from behind McCree. His master had sprung up in front of him, to offer a superfluous protection that made the shock in the Ifrit’s heart taste like something different.

“Take the kid down and find the lamp”, grumbled a cold voice from the threshold, and Hanzo saw him. A mountain of a man, the same that had ambushed them in that alley just two days before. But now that he could see him clearly – even if behind a red veil of terror and anger boiling in his blood – Hanzo felt ice on his skin. Doomfist – a cheeky name and yet fitting for someone that imposing, radiating an aura of steel authority and nothing human. Icy black eyes found Hanzo’s face and a smirk tilted the warlord’s lips.

“So that’s it. You’re the one we’re looking for…”

“Hands off, you jerk!” McCree’s voice was rough, with no hint of hesitation. The muzzle of his gun pointed straight to Doomfist’s head. “One step closer and I’ll blow your head up”.

Doomfist just rolled his eyes. No hint of fear on his face, just mild annoyance; he stepped over his dead comrade without sparing him a look and snapped his fingers.

“Kill him”.

“No!”

Hanzo had no idea where that surge of power came from, but as his own voice roared in the small room he found himself in front of McCree – had he moved? Or just slipped in ethereal form through him, to shield his body from the rain of bullets? He stood still, arms splayed and eyes burning in a silent challenge to Doomfist as every shot dug through his pale chest and disappeared with no trace of blood.

“What’s this nonsense? You’re defending your master, little genie?”

“His name’s Hanzo, and…”

“Why isn’t that mutt dead yet? Did I stutter?”

Hanzo shivered as power flowed through his body at the sight of rising arms, and no matter if it hurt, no matter if the cuffs around his wrists and the collar at his throat tightened and burned. He knew what had to be done.

 _First wish:_ help me _. I’m the one who chooses how and when._

It was wrong, he knew it, and in his past he’d stretched the rules at his own will to make his masters’ life as miserable as possible. Now he willingly twisted McCree’s wish to his advantage.

The dimly lighted room shone blue, turning the faces of their assailants – more were coming through the door, not minding their dead companion – into pale masks of death. Hanzo felt the fire climb his nerves and condense on his fingertips. Bright blue flames coiled on his palms, and with a flick of his wrists they darted away, clashing against the first men in line. Sparkles shot from their bodies together with a chorus of screams and an immediate stench of burnt Kevlar and hair.

Behind him, McCree shot again, his elbow on Hanzo’s shoulder; the bang made his ear buzz loud, but he managed to summon another fireball that bounced over the three mercenaries writhing on the ground on fire and rolling toward Doomfist himself. The boss avoided it with a leap to his side and the flames exploded against the counter.

Hanzo wavered as more magic sparkled under his skin – he was ready for another round, and apparently their attackers were shocked enough to lose some of their fast reactions.  McCree was a scorching, heavy presence at his back, panting hard.

“Grab the bag”. His voice was a furious snarl. “We’re going to…”

McCree’s voice died in a rough huff and Hanzo’s powers flickered as he turned roughly to him. The impact of limbs and bodies on his legs almost made him fall, as one of the mercenaries tackled McCree. Thrown on his side, with the shoulder of his assaulter smacked in his ribs, McCree fell heavily and lost grip on his gun. The mercenary slammed on top of him, one black-clad arm reaching for his side and pressing his gun against his face. With a swift movement, his head fell to McCree’s nose, drawing a gurgling moan from his lips.

Hanzo burst into a column of blue flames; his heart thudded in his whole body, fuelled by rage and primal fear at the sight of McCree’s eyes, filled with tears of pain.

 _I will protect you_ , he thought, baring his teeth in a sneer that reignited the flames in the room.

“Calm down, genie, or he dies”, said a dispassionate voice behind him. Hanzo, ready to incinerate the man threatening McCree, hesitate as the stranger’s index danced on the trigger. McCree coughed and spluttered blood from a broken lip, making the mercenary’s gun squish his cheek harder.

Doomfist walked among the flames as if nothing, huge fists clenched at his sides and square jaw contracted with cold irritation. Hanzo didn’t move – he didn’t even smother the spell dancing on his fingertips.

“Because that’s what you’re doing now, isn’t it, genie? You’re following his orders. His wish”.

“Han…” Another punch, and McCree moaned, his breath hissing through his teeth.

“You’re a weapon, and I trade in weapons”. Doomfist cocked a thick black eyebrow and scrunched his nose – it looked like it had been broken a dozen times. “You’re not the only one who has masters, and mine will pay some good money for you and your lamp”.

Hanzo wanted to say something, and his throat burned with a thousand furious replies as much as his hands burned with magic fire, but the labored breath from McCree behind him paralyzed him.

Doomfist stepped even closer, a huge shape clad in black, with two guns hanging from his belt. And Hanzo knew, deep inside his heart, that he had nothing to fear from him – his bullets were nothing for his immortal flesh – but McCree…

“So now, if you don’t want to see your little friend’s head explode in a red firework be a good boy and lower your hands”. Doomfist’s voice was calm – dead, even. Not a trace of emotion, just the quiet confidence of someone who knew he was going to be obeyed. “You, there”, added the warlord, gesturing to one of his mates with his head. “Search the place before it burns to the ground. We need the lamp”.

An electric shock of dread tensed Hanzo’s back.

A weapon. Doomfist wanted him for war – for _death_. A black shade infiltrated his blue glow and he growled at the bottom of his throat. No doubt he’d have McCree killed the second his minion would have found the lamp.

Smoke – gray and heavy – started to layer in the room, from the burning covers and door, and Hanzo felt he couldn’t move. He was this close to passing from one master to another, and he wished he knew what to do. But there it was, panic freezing his rage as Doomfist stare held him in place.

The only way…

He turned to McCree, ignoring the mirthless snicker from the mercenary leader.

Blood. Pouring from his mouth, from his nose. The hand of his enemy pressed on his throat, the metal of the muzzle shiny against his beard. His eyes were filled with despair, lost in Hanzo’s.

Those broken lips moved without a sound, and there came the answer.

Hanzo felt it without hearing it – words so heartfelt they burned through his core and picked the strings of his curse in the right way.

 _Harut_.

The sound rang in his very bones and he blinked, but McCree was not done yet.

 _Stay with me_.

His blue skin was darkening to black as the mercenary approached the bed.

And the backpack.

And the lamp.

McCree closed his eyes and a small sound crawled out of his mouth, fast and barely audible.

“This is … a wish”, he muttered.

It was enough. Time ceased to have sense and Hanzo took a deep, free breath, raising his hands.

He could still see it all: Doomfist realizing something was wrong, his pupils blown wide and his face going pale. McCree closing his eyes in horrified acceptance of death, the man on top of him squinting and pulling the trigger.

Slowly. So slowly.

As the wish was made Hanzo’s powers lost every constraint. It was easy to float back and grab McCree’s hand; a flick of his fingers and the lamp glided into his palm, heavy and warm with its own life.

The booming cry Doomfist let out vibrated in the air, but all Hanzo noticed was how his mouth distorted in a perfect O, eyes wide and tendons strained on his throat. McCree’s fingers squeezed his hand and the thought roared again against Hanzo’s heart.

_Stay with me._

One last glimpse of the burning room before he commanded reality to let them pass.

Somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A kiss, at last - and it didn't end well. My poor babies.  
> Genji is - as we all know - a little shit, but also a caring brother. Hanzo will come to realize it too, but unfortunately anxiety is a nasty bitch.  
> Next chapter will make the change in rating clearer. Prepare yourself for some heat in the desert :3
> 
> As usual, and forgive me if I'm being redundant, thank you for your support! See you next week <3


	7. Falling hard.

Sand. Cool under his palms, giving way under his knees as he tried to get up in a frenzy of panic.

Sand on his skin, blood on his tongue; he tried to open his eyes, to get up. McCree coughed, his limbs shaking wildly in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush that was leaving him too shocked to properly function. The only sound filling his head was the roar of his pulse, broken by the wheezing moan climbing out of his throat.

A sparkle lit up in his brain.

No gunshots. No crackling of fire – there was silence out there.

Strong, slender fingers twitched in his fist, a lively sensation that dragged McCree back to reality. Still panting he opened one eye and found only darkness.

The hand holding his own squeezed him. Fresh skin, a steady touch – a soft whisper.

“Jesse?”

He groaned some more and pushed himself up, but his arm trembled and he fell again.

“Shit…”

“You are injured”.

Hanzo’s voice was both tender and hard, and McCree fumbled to get on his knees. During his awkward efforts Hanzo didn’t let go of his hand.

“Well… I’m alive, and this is great. And yer with me”, he opened both his eyes, although one hurt so much he’d have much preferred to keep it closed. The sight welcoming him back to the real world, though, was worth the inconvenience.

Hanzo was staring at him, his nose almost brushing McCree’s, and all the supernatural, frightening aura was gone from him. He looked young and scared, with his big eyes shining softly in the near darkness and black hair merging with the night sky.

“They hurt you”. A glimmering hand fluttered to McCree’s face, resting hesitantly on his cheek – just like it had seconds before their conversation had become a kiss.

A bubbling of emotion rose from the pit of his terror, and McCree tried to hang to it for his dear life. He shrugged and forced a smile on his lips, but only ended up bleeding profusely down his chin and grimacing in pain.

“Ouch. Well – a bit, maybe, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t get a bullet to my face. Thank you, starshine”.

With a snort Hanzo sat back on his haunches and slowly released his grip on McCree’s hand.

“You made a wish, it’s my duty to obey”.

McCree grunted and straightened in a more comfortable position. Shock faded into a more manageable tension and he ran a hand over his face, wincing at the dull pain in his nose and spreading blood on his cheek. 

“It’s something more than that”, and as he spoke those words he realized how desperately he wished for them to be true. Hanzo was looking away, shivering softly. “I didn’t… I thought something, and then everything went blue and weird and… well, here we are, wherever here is”.

The world around him gained focus. The sky was pitch black over them, faintly orange on the horizon; desert hills and crooked silhouettes, a rectangular block with small windows, piles of dirt in the distance. McCree blinked and swallowed the blood still filling his mouth; that bastard of a minion had hit him quite hard, for his brain seemed to be working in slow motion.

“Where are we?” He asked again, half knowing the answer already.

“Harut. You – that’s what you asked for”.

“I didn’t…” McCree stood up, still unstable on his feet; Hanzo grabbed his arm and helped him up, and McCree held to him. “I didn’t think…”

“You _did_ think it. I didn’t know the place, but your mind screamed to me this is where you wanted to be. Among ruins. In the middle of nowhere”.

A glimpse of his usual dry sarcasm filtered in his voice and McCree felt his heart burn. Emotions hit him like a truck and his breath caught in his throat, with a rasping sound Hanzo didn’t fail to notice. He frowned and took a closer look at McCree’s bruised face.

“I fear you’re not as fine as you th-“

McCree interrupted him with a fierce embrace. He threw his arms around Hanzo and squished him to his chest, muffling a sigh against the head pressed under his chin. He held him close, eyes squeezed shut and broken lip caught between his teeth, until he felt him stiffen and then relax in his grip. Hanzo gasped and melted against him, wrapping his arms around McCree’s waist and nuzzling his neck with a shaky breath.

“You read my mind. Or my heart, or whatever it was – and we’re safe. You’re something more than a genie, starshine. You’re my hero”.

The fingers on his back winced and sunk into the muscle. Hanzo hid his face against McCree’s chest and shook his head.

“It was a wish. Just a wish”.

“I don’t care”, and he burrowed his nose in his silky hair. Even if he knew it was wrong, even if their kiss (no, _kisses_ , and good God he wanted more) was wrong and everything was wrong. He let his soul take the reins for a moment and inhaled the scent of stars that radiated from Hanzo’s soft skin.

Then he remembered how incredible Hanzo’s lips had felt on his own and how his muscular body seemed tailored to fit against him. McCree lingered one more second, learning by heart the smooth edges of Hanzo’s shoulder blades and the hard columns of muscles framing his spine, and then he took a step back. His hand couldn’t leave Hanzo’s shoulders, and under the wave of suffering shrouding his face he blushed fiercely.

“Thank you. Even if you had no choice, you did the best thing. _Thank you_ ”.

A sad smile tugged at the corners of the Ifrit’s mouth.

“What a weird master you are… being thanked is not something I’m accustomed to”.

Pain and regret twisted in McCree’s stomach. What cruelty that wonderful creature had had to endure for his whole existence…

He rubbed a gentle caress on Hanzo’s shoulders, thumbs drawing circles on his fresh skin, and pushed himself to let go of him for good. The more he insisted in touching him and seeking his company, the weaker his determination became, so he looked away.

Back in Harut, but it was so different from just one week ago. Had the research group just been dismantled the place wouldn’t have looked so dismal. It was a war scenario, all crushed tents and ghostly ruins. A lump of hatred and fear choked him – Gabe and Ana and Fareeha had to undergo all of this, thrown into a deathly situation by accident and by the greed of someone who dealt in death. The sharp face of Doomfist blinked in his memory and his fingers clenched on a gun that was not there anymore.

Snarling quietly McCree remembered it was gone, together with his bag and phone, with their supplies and…

“The lamp!” He turned so abruptly to Hanzo – he was nearer than he’d thought – the Ifrit jumped. “Where is it? Did you…”

“There’s no lamp without a genie, and no genie without a lamp”. His voice was thick with anger and melancholy. He tilted his head to the side and McCree, hair standing in tension on the back of his head, followed the gesture. The plump shape of the lamp glimmered faintly in the sand and relief turned his knees to jelly. He wavered and walked a couple of steps, then crouched and grabbed the lamp, cradling it against his chest.

“You have one wish left, Jesse”, and oh, how he wished Hanzo’s voice didn’t sound so cold and vulnerable at the same time. Shock was still rippling his mind, and he turned to him with more rage than his companion’d have deserved.

“You really think I give a rat’s ass about that wish?” He snapped, fury radiating from him in red heat waves he could almost see. “It’s _you_ I want to keep safe, for fuck’s sake!”

The confused, hurt look in Hanzo’s eyes looked the time of a thought, immediately replaced by something harder and more distant, but was enough to rip McCree’s heart.

“I… sorry, starshine. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to be such an asshole”. What he wanted was to reach out and brush back the loose bang of hair from Hanzo’s cheek and see him smile once more. “I need to take you somewhere safe, I can’t stand the idea of these jerks hurting you”.

Hanzo sighed and shook his head. He somehow seemed unable to look away from McCree.

“You already said that, and…”

_And I believe you._

The unspoken words quivered in McCree’s conscience and left him speechless. He had to scrape the bottom of his stocks of determination to nod and go back to his inspection of their surroundings.

“Gabe and the others are here – in town, I mean, but I don’t know where”. Without realizing it he’d started to move toward the container Gabe had the guts to call his office, and Hanzo followed him close. “I’m not positive there’s still anything in this hellhole that wasn’t blown up by Doomfist’s men or some jackals on their trail, but it’s worth checking out”.

Hanzo was still silent when they got to the container. McCree’s grip on the lamp was so tight his knuckles hurt, and it got even worse when they reached the front door – or, more precisely, the place where the door used to be. Now the empty doorframe opened on a pitch-black hall of chaos and destruction.

“Doomfist, you son of a bitch…” His rough whisper rolled off his mouth and tasted like all the horror of the last hours. He took one tentative step inside and tried not to imagine any dark red stains on the floor, knowing very well they were there. He walked on crumpled papers and kicked something hard, almost stumbling in what he made out to be a broken chair. Blind in the darkness he held out a hand but found nothing, only empty air and frustration.

The burst of flame made him squint and jerk in sudden terror, but Hanzo quickly reassured him with a gentle – _too_ gentle, he didn’t deserve it – hand on his shoulder. A blue light was dancing on his other palm, casting deep shadows over the devastation. McCree smiled his gratitude and Hanzo almost reciprocated.

Now that he could see clearly McCree found confirmation of his first impression: the room was upside down, the desk thrown on its side, and sand was everywhere. He tried his best not to pay too much attention to the holes in the metal wall or to picture Gabe splayed on the ground, dead.

_No, he’s fine and safe, you heard him. He’ll help you as soon as you find him._

There seemed to be nothing useful. Of course, whatever thug had come across the excavation site after Doomfist’s attack had taken away every single piece of technology in sight, so no phones or computers. Still, he opened the only drawer still in place, now facing the ceiling. Hanzo stepped closer, holding up his light.

Nothing. Just a bunch of sheets at the bottom of the drawer, a broken pen and…

“Well, not what I was looking for, but better than nothing”, he muttered in a shaky laughter. His fingers insisted on the cold, smooth surface peeking from under the papers, and its weight felt familiar in his hand. When he fished out the small metal flask he turned to Hanzo.

“Once Gabe found this in my tent. He said whisky, archaeology and the desert heat don’t mix well, so he took it from me and hid it in his office”. His smile warmed and he shrugged. “I’d almost forgotten about it, but it’ll help pass the night. Come on, I need a moment to calm down, care to join me?”

“I’m not going anywhere”, but Hanzo’s voice sounded painfully sweet in his ears.

Leaving the proof of the danger they were in (as if they needed any more) behind was a small blessing. They both sat in front of the container, their backs resting against the metal wall, still warm from the day’s sun. McCree opened the flask and took a sip; as whisky burned his throat some of the tension in his body eased and his mind cleared. Now he could see the events of the night one by one, and they were beyond scary. He drank again and panted, desperate to banish the panic lingering at the borders of his mind.

The alcohol was like fire on the open wounds on his lip, on the slash inside his cheek. He handed the flask to Hanzo, who hesitated a moment, eyes on McCree’s hand. The blue light was gone and now it was just the two of them and the velvet of night. Eventually the Ifrit made up his mind and accepted the offer, grimacing as the liquor stung his lips.

McCree tried to chuckle but only managed a dry sob.

“Yeah, it burns”.

“How can you mortal drink this? It’s gross”.  
  
“It’s all we have for now, keeps your head light and your belly… well, not full, but it helps ignore hunger”.

With a quick smirk Hanzo drank again.

For a while they shared the flask in silence, and in the end McCree spoke.

“I killed a man. Or two, right? I didn’t stop to think about it before but…”

“I think you did. To save your life, and probably me, too”. Hanzo stretched out his legs; where his dark pants ended, halfway down his calves, his skin seemed to shine in the darkness. He turned his head and looked at McCree, features half hidden by the shadow of his long hair. “You don’t seem in shock”.

“Shoot, it’s never nice, but you’re right, it was self-defence”. He took his hat off – it was a miracle he hadn’t lost it yet – and ruffled his hair. All of a sudden, he felt all the weight of his past on his shoulders, and he was too tired to bear it alone. “Also, it was not the first time”.

He looked at the lamp, then at the empty flask. Anywhere but in Hanzo’s direction, although he felt his eyes on him.

“It’s not something I’m proud of and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but…”

“Tell me your story, Jesse McCree”.

He closed his eyes and Hanzo moved closer; now their shoulders were touching, and McCree almost leaned on him.

“Told ya, I have a troubled past, and Gabe took me off the mud. Truth is a bit more complicated… I was seventeen, a scrawny thing all legs and eyes trying to play the tough guy. Got no one, y’know, and I’d spent my childhood shuffling from one foster family to the other; no one really wanted me, I was too much trouble, and I made very little friends”. He bent his knees and perched his elbows on them. “Who wants to be friend with the poor, orphan kid who can only reason with his fists?”

He shrugged and absent-mindedly patted his chest for a cigarette pack that was not there. The whisky started to work its magic, not enough to get him drunk but still able to loosen his tongue.

“I ran across a gang and joined in at eleven. Petty crimes at first, then something bigger. I learned to shoot, and in time made a name in that organization. When another gang attacked us in plain sight, near the university campus, I was armed. I… I remember little of what happened, I mean it’s been over ten years, but…”

He coughed and threw his head back, looking up at the stars. “I panicked, that’s it. I played the badass but was not prepared to risk my life for good, and when this guy came at me with a knife I shot him. Right in the face”, and he pointed at his own forehead. The memory of blood and screams was faded, much due to the state of shock he’d been into at the time. Nightmares and obsession had done the rest to fill in the gaps.

“One of my gangmates was dead already, and one from the other gang was bleeding and crying for his mother. And I stood there, letting go of a smoking gun and with a crimson splatter on my face when someone approached. The others thought it was the cops and run away. They took my gun and… well, they’d have shot me too, but this guy just appeared from behind the corner and they were all gone”.

Gabe’d been younger, a tall, dark guy in his thirties with a black hoodie and a basketball under his arm. He’d looked at the scene in shock, then at McCree, and then…

“Then the cops came for real. They took me in, and Gabe testified. He said he’d seen my dead friend shot the other before being taken down, and that I got caught in the crossfire”. He held back tears and hid his face in his arms. “He changed my life – I’d be rotting in jail by now. But no, Gabe’d been adamant: _I saved your sorry ass, kid, and now I want something in return.”_

McCree hadn't been a bright student back then, but he knew what honour was. He went back to school and kept his head low for the next couple of years, always under Gabe’s careful and unforgiving stare, and in the end even managed to get into college.

“And so here I am, a former gang member, a murderer who got away with it and tries to deserve the second chance he’d been given”. He huffed a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt and didn’t look up. “I suppose yer not thinking much of me right now, Han”.

The silence stretched into the night; hadn’t it been for the solid pressure of Hanzo’s shoulder against his arm McCree would’ve thought he was gone.

“Only that you made your way out of the darkness. Seventeen… you were a child”.

“With a gun”.

“A child nonetheless. You needed guidance and found the wrong comrades. I, on the other hand, have no right to such extenuating circumstances”. His deep voice lowered to a whisper, so soft and desperate McCree emerged from his memories and looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

Hanzo’s profile, with his noble nose and long lashes, looked carved in marble.

“I’m a kinslayer. I wanted to kill my brother, and failed out of mere casualty”.

“Wait, wait… I thought you Ifrits were immortal, that’s what you…”

“We’re immune to mortal weapons and can’t die from old age or illness, but magic _can_ destroy us”. His hands contracted in his lap, every golden ring shining in the light of the moon. “There’s no afterlife for a spirit, you stop existing forever, and in time even the memory of you fades away. And I tried to condemn my own brother to this”.

“But why…” McCree bit his lip, immediately regretting it as blood poured on his tongue again. “Nope, shouldn’t have asked, none of my business I…”

But Hanzo ignored him, still looking up to the sky.

“I was weak and mislead. Some more powerful spirits convinced me that Genji – that’s my brother’s name – affection for mankind was a dishonor for our kind and that he had to be stopped. Destroyed, if he didn’t accept to come to terms with our reality”. A deep sigh shook his chest. “In the end, I believed them and we faced each other in a duel. He still bears the scars…”

“So he survived”.

“Oh, he did. And, damn his gentle soul, he’s forgiven me. Something I can’t do, even after ten thousand years of imprisonment”.

“No, wait: your bosses, let’s call them that, told you to do something and then punished you for doing it? That’s…”

Hanzo smirked and looked at him. McCree’s heart raced faster and he lost his words. Again.

“No, I’m the one who chose the lamp. I couldn’t stand going back to my realm after what I’d done and I had to make amends for my mistake. Genji’s been annoying me for ages with this, but even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t leave my cage. I chose forever as my penalty, and forever it shall be”.

“But you _want_ to leave the lamp, wouldn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t just walk away…”

And his voice broke. McCree surrendered to instinct and took his hand, and after a second of hesitation Hanzo interlaced his fingers with his own.

He wanted to offer words of comfort, to say it was going to be alright, but what did he know about magic and rules? Hell, he was bad already with the mortal kind, the spirits’ ones were a total black hole for him.

Before he could speak, though, Hanzo’s voice, more bitter than ever, growled in the night.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t want me”.

Air left his lungs in a loud breath and McCree turned to Hanzo so fast his neck hurt.

“ _What_?”

The hand in his own went limp and Hanzo eventually left his grip. Something had hardened on his face, the hidden pain in his eyes making his cheekbones look somehow sharper, his lips pressed in a furious line.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. Clearly you have no interest in me, I…”

“Hanzo, holy shit, we were kissing like one hour ago! I was _loving_ it!”

“And then you broke away, as you always do when I get too close. I apologize, I can’t force desire where there’s none, and… where are you going?”

McCree found himself on his feet, and the mixture of closeness, fear and suffering in his heart was quickly being replaced by something else. Flames under his skin, breath ragged, jaws clenched – he paced back and forth and barely minded Hanzo standing too, or his wounded stare.

“So you think I don’t want you”. His voice trembled as his hands, pulling at his own hair and knocking his hat to the ground. “I can’t believe it”.

Hanzo was a pale blur at the corner of his field of sight, shining brighter with every passing moment.

“Every time you touch me you… you shrink back as if you’d touched a snake!” he snarled, and McCree panted, running a hand over his eyes and pressing hard. The pain from his wound didn’t help.

“Hanzo, stop it…”

“No, because it’s all weird and new to me! I’ve spent millennia knowing that my masters would desire me and…”

“Hanzo. Stop it”. This time his voice lowered in a growl. His chest ached and his blood boiled to his head. Red – all he could see was red, as primal instinct took over his mind. Desperate, McCree grasped the tails of his wits and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked.

“… and now for the first time I can feel something and you don’t want me, I can’t…”

Anger and pain shattered the last of his restraints. McCree turned around and reached Hanzo in two steps, towering over him, shoving him against the wall at his back. The metal rattled and the jewels on the Ifrit’s chest tinkled.

“ _I don’t want you_? I don’t… I don’t want you?” he hissed. His hand rose and rolled in a fist, hitting the metal wall next to Hanzo's head. “Is that what you think?”

Close. Breath shared and heat rising between them, fiery dark eyes burning in his own, a stubborn grimace on those full lips.

McCree hunched over him and bared his teeth.

“There’s not a thing in the world I want more than taste your tongue again and see that pretty head of your bob up and down between my legs as you suck me off”. His mouth was at Hanzo’s ear, and now that common sense had left him, McCree was pure fire. “I w-want to hear you beg and scream my name as I fuck you until all you can feel is my cock sinking inside you, and I want you to tear my clothes off and fuck me against this damned wall and…”

Hanzo bit off a moan and his hips jerked forward, meeting McCree’s. The quick brush of his erection against him sent a spike of desire through his nerves and he bucked back in despair.

“… and bloody hell you know what effect you have on me, you _know_ it”, he grabbed a handful of silky hair and pulled Hanzo’s head back; his fist slid from the wall to his chest, and the touch of the golden rings piercing the Ifrit’s nipples made his head spin. That beautiful, eager look on his face, though, did the rest. “I’ve never wanted anyone more in my whole fucking life, do you realize it?”

Hanzo squirmed against him, breath heavy and hooded eyes, and his tongue flicked through his lips.

McCree could have kissed him – his lips were just a breath away, and his jeans were getting tighter with every heartbeat, with every pant they shared.

He grunted and let Hanzo go, taking a step back and trembling so hard his teeth almost chattered.

“I fuckin’ want you, Hanzo. But I can’t – I shouldn’t have…”

He couldn’t keep staring at Hanzo. He was the picture of desperate desire itself, with his parted lips and quiet moaning, silken pants tented over his erection. McCree looked away and turned around, ashamed of himself for his show and for how his voice now sounded pathetic.

“ _I can’t_. I got it, this need is mutual, great, but… but no. I’m your master, I’m in a place where I can order you to do anything and I have power over you. A power I don’t want – fuck, Han, I really wish you were human, I do, but I won’t take advantage of you like that. End of the story”.

He felt the burn of Hanzo’s fury between his shoulders as he walked away. Had he stopped to look at him he’d have lost his control.

McCree knew he was right. Hanzo’d suffered abuses for his whole imprisonment – and no, knowing he was the one who'd inflicted that punishment on himself didn’t make things easier – and he cared so much about him he couldn’t stand the idea of adding up to his suffering. Even if it hurt like hell and his heart bled with every step he took from him.

Even if he knew it was something more than lust what drove him to the Ifrit.

 _Especially so_.

His steps, stomping as they were, fell silent on the soft sand. Habit drove him from Hanzo and down a well-known path. By the time he’d reached his tent – still standing, albeit ripped and covered in sand on its steep fabric walls – he was shaking again, head full of anger and frustration. Why did it have to be so fucking complicated? Why wasn’t Hanzo just some pretty guy he could have met at a bar, or a fellow at university or anything? He didn’t want this – be the _owner_ of a person, have this kind of power and at the same time feeling that roaring flame in his chest every time their eyes met.

He grabbed the ripped drape closing the tent and moved it away, revealing the dark interior. Hands in his hair again he growled at the bottom of his throat and almost let out a scream of pure anguish.

It was too much.

The gravelly voice reached him from the silence at his back.

“Jesse McCree, don’t you dare”.

McCree didn’t want to look, but Hanzo’s presence was incumbent at his back. He could hear him pant and could imagine the hurt look in his eyes. A ball of light rolled on the ground, showing the mess of tangled covers and spilled common items all around – a comb, a razor, playing cards scattered everywhere. Doomfist had had his men search his quarters too.

“Hanzo, please, I…”

The hand on his arm was rough, fingertips digging into his muscles; Hanzo pulled him and McCree turned around.

“I said _don’t you dare_. You’re patronizing me!” Pain was in his eyes, sure, but the fire burning in Hanzo’s soul was so bright and raging McCree was tempted to avert this gaze. That was the face of a man who had suffered more than enough and was not going to take anyone’s shit.

“What? No, I’m not! I’m simply tellin’ you the brutal truth: I can’t touch you without feeling disgust for myself!”

“Why would you? Did I ever give you the impression of not wanting it?”

McCree swallowed and it was like having sand in his throat.

“Of course not! I’m not some beast, I wouldn’t have even looked at you if I thought you…”

“Then _why_?”

“Must I repeat myself? I won’t be like one of your previous masters, I won’t use you like that!”

They were both yelling at each other, and with each heated word came more suffering. On both sides, judging from the glimmering in Hanzo’s eyes.

“So that’s why you’re being such a fool: not for me, but for _you_! For your damned peace of mind! You ignore my words, my needs, and call it respect!”

“You really think so? Fuck, then you totally missed the point, it was never about me but about _you_! Can’t you see? I want you to be free, to make you happy and I can’t do anything about it – it sucks!”

Hanzo moved closer and his hands grabbed McCree by the front of his shirt.

“Tell me you don’t want me, because that I could accept. Tell me it’s true and I swear on all that is holy that I’ll never lay my hand on you again…”

His voice broke and McCree felt his anger deflate into a deeper, way more painful feeling. A dry smile found its way to his lips.

“I would, but babe, I’m a bad liar…”

Hanzo’s fingers loosened and his palms lay flat on McCree’s chest. When he lowered his head the temptation to hold him close and never let him go was so strong McCree had to bite the wound in his cheek, hoping the sting of pain could distract him from the hurricane of emotions.

“Jesse, I’ve been a slave for ten thousand years. All this time I suffered my deal of abuses and I was sure I would never feel desire for another being again, let alone affection”.  
His hands slid down McCree’s torso and fell to his sides. Hanzo shook his head, eyes shielded by his hair. “Then you found me and…”

_Oh fuck, I can’t take this._

A snort, a jolt of tension that made him close his fists, and Hanzo looked him in the eye again. Fierce, passionate.

“For centuries I’ve been denied the opportunity to choose. Now that for the first time since I can remember I feel free to follow my heart, you too are denying me this?”

A whisper as sharp as a razor that slashed McCree’s heart and threw his certainties to the wind.

They stood still for a timeless moment with the only company of their fast breathing and running hearts. In the end, McCree sighed and lifted his hands. Hanzo’s face was unusually hot against his palms when he cupped it, and at the first touch the stars on his tattoo exploded in a blaze of white light.

“Say it once more, starshine. Say that you want me”.

“That would be redundant and you already know the answer”. How could he be so perfect, even in such a troubled state? The flush on his skin – chest and neck and face – only made him more attractive, as did his ruthless stare.

“I need to hear it. Once more, and I’ll believe you”.

Hanzo gulped and leaned in McCree’s touch.

“I want you”, he purred, turning to place a soft kiss on his wrist.

“Then I’m yours. I’m at your mercy, Hanzo, and I’ll do whatever you want – anything to make you feel good”.

He bowed his head and rested his forehead against Hanzo’s, breathing in that otherworldly, intoxicating scent from his lips.

“Kiss me”.

None of them dared to blink, but McCree didn’t let his brain interfere again. He pulled Hanzo’s face up and landed hard on his mouth.

There was no hesitation this time. Hanzo parted his lips and their tongues found each other, slick and hot and so hungry McCree felt his knees go weak.

They were devouring each other, moaning between kisses; the outside world stopped existing for that blessed moment. No lamp, no Doomfist, no fear.

This one night was theirs.

Hanzo slid his hands under McCree’s t-shirt, and now he offered no resistance. He let him roll it up his stomach and chest without ever breaking from the kiss, except for the second Hanzo pulled it off his head. When they embraced again the sensation of skin and jewels, smooth and burning like a cold flamea gainst his body made McCree groan deeply. He grabbed Hanzo’s ass and pulled him against his hips, thrusting blindly and this time fully enjoying the stiff length pressed against his cock.

How long had he wanted this? Surely not from the very beginning, having been too busy screaming and panicking to care, but the desire had burned slowly into his core since Hanzo had accepted to speak with him.

And now here he was, panting against his skin and whispering his name between sloppy kisses. McCree lifted Hanzo on his toes and leaned backwards – and damn, the Ifrit was shorter than him but he was strongly built and heavy, and suddenly he found himself unbalanced on his heels.

“Oops…”

An awkward movement and McCree fell flat on his ass, dragging Hanzo with him. They rolled on the messy floor, and McCree huffed as Hanzo landed on his chest, his hair falling around their faces in a black curtain.

The stars on his tattoo were shining white and gold, making his eyes stand out even more. McCree drowned into them for a second, and then Hanzo’s lips quivered. A snort from his nose, a crinkling of his eyelids and he started to laugh – a real laughter, free and open, trembling against McCree’s chest and getting under his skin, straight to his heart. For a moment he just looked at the gorgeous creature on top of him, wincing with contagious laughter. He tried to hold back, not to lose a second of the incredible sound blessing his ears – Hanzo’s smiles were so rare and precious, but this was a whole new world – but couldn’t resist. He lost all composure and laughed too until there were tears in his eyes; he tried to stifle the sound in Hanzo’s neck and failed, his hands clasped on his hips.

How long they stayed like that, grinning like two idiots and clutching each other, McCree could not tell. Only, when everything toned down to a quiet chuckle, he found his lips on the soft skin at the base of Hanzo’s throat, and without thinking twice he closed his teeth on the pulse there.

Hanzo gasped and his fingers ran through his hair in a sharp tug.

McCree stopped immediately.

“Sorry, I…”

“Do it again”. Little more than a shaky breath, hot and needy, and McCree nearly melted at how passionate it sounded. His hands squeezed Hanzo’s ass and he bit him again, sucking at the skin and licking it in long, slow sweeps. He sat up, and Hanzo’s thighs tightened on his hips; a few more kisses, peppered along his collarbone, a gentle nipping at the firm flesh of his chest, and Hanzo started to move.

Slowly at first, back and forth in a rhythm McCree couldn’t but follow, painfully hard and desperate for friction.

Hanzo pulled his head up, capturing his mouth again and sucking avidly at his tongue. When his teeth sunk into McCree’s bottom lip – a sharp bite, strong enough to make the small wound bleed again – McCree groaned, and then some more when Hanzo lapped the trail of blood from his skin.

“Not so loud now, are you?” There was still a trace of mischief in the Ifrit’s voice, but it was almost drowned by his gasping breath.

McCree didn’t answer at first, kissing him deeply and kneading the muscles on Hanzo’s ass, pulling him forward and spreading him just enough to press his cock along his cleft. That alone, together with the incredible sight of those big eyes darkened by lust and the brush of jewels and stiff nipples against his chest, was nearly too much to bear. Pleasure was quickly thickening at the base of his spine and he growled on Hanzo’s mouth.

“Got better things to do with my tongue”, he hissed before running a hand up Hanzo’s back and through his hair, balling it in his fist and bending his head backward for another round of kisses.

Arching on him, Hanzo raked his fingertips down McCree’s chest and stomach, making him squirm just a bit as the caress tickled his skin, and then reached his belt. With trembling gestures, he undid his buckle and fumbled with the zip until his moans turned into a muttered flow of curses.

“’s everything ok?”

“This… blighted… _thing_ , how does it work?”

McCree didn’t stop moving under him, and a particularly vicious thrust Hanzo tensed and moaned out loud.

“Damn modern technologies, right?” he chuckled, sliding a hand between them to unzip his jeans. In doing so his hand brushed Hanzo’s erection, and he decided it would have been a waste not seizing the opportunity. He grabbed it through the silk of his pants and stroked him slowly, basking in the wonderful sound those pretty lips let out for him.

He didn’t really feel like talking at all, as their bodies were communicating in a perfectly clear way even without words, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He needed confirmation – he had to be sure Hanzo was comfortable.

“So”, he asked in a rough whisper, gasping when a flick of tongue brushed his lips. “Fuck – I mean, how d’ya wanna do this?”

Hanzo tilted his head and made an attempt at a sassy look, but his eyes fluttered close as McCree wrapped his fingers tighter around his cock.

“W-What do you…”

“Yer in charge, starshine. Whatever you want, I’m here for you”.

They stood still for a moment, except for the little leap of Hanzo’s erection in McCree’s fist, then Hanzo smiled. A slow, deliberate curling of his lips that made his eyes glimmer in delight.

“Are you sure?”

“Bring it on”.

Hanzo bit his lip and his hands grabbed McCree’s shoulders, shoving him back with a playful push. A trail of kisses and bites descended from his neck to his chest, and when Hanzo’s teeth found his nipple – a soft bite, a teasing touch of his tongue long enough to make him moan loud – he rolled his hips searching for more. But Hanzo was not having any of his impatience: he took McCree by the sides and held him in place, slipping his fingers under the waistband of his jeans and underwear and pulling everything down his thighs.

A second of warm night air on his flushed cock, and then the cold sensation of the golden chains adorning Hanzo’s body – and finally the strong pressure of his hard pecs, squeezing him and moving back and forth in tandem with the pace of lips down his body. McCree, arms splayed at his sides, clawed at the ground and arched against Hanzo, a loud moan rolling from his mouth. The sensation of firm muscles against his cock was incredible, and holding back was becoming too difficult.

“Han…” His fingers raked up Hanzo’s arms, unsteady, and once again he grabbed his hair, arching his back to meet the heated trail of the tongue descending his stomach. He squirmed and kicked to get rid of his boots and pants, and Hanzo helped him strip for good.

McCree had a second to enjoy the needy look in Hanzo’s eyes, not much more. The caress of smooth skin on his stiff length switched abruptly to a wet, scorching sensation – spit-slick lips stroking him down to his balls.

“Fuck – it’s… damn…”

A delighted quiver of amusement against his skin.

“Already lost your ability to form coherent sentences?”

“Babe, what did you expec-oh _God_ ”. His voice choked in a wail when Hanzo swallowed him – slippery heat and twitching muscles and that low purr vibrating through his core. His fist clenched in the glorious mass of hair and he resisted the urge to push Hanzo further. His mind screamed him to thrust – hard, quick, until he saw those pretty eyes shine with tears of lust and drool dribble from the corner of the pink, spread lips circling him. He couldn’t think or consider what Hanzo would decide to do, but whatever it was, he needed it _now_. All that teasing, quick grazing of tongue on the head of his cock and strong fingers stroking slowly, with a small twist at the end, was making his desire unbearable.

He freed one hand and groped blindly all around him – a broken pair of sunglasses, a shoe, a crumpled plastic bottle. Frustration mixed with pleasure, and a small sound of needy disappointment escaped his lips as Hanzo left him for a moment.

“Any problem?”

“N-No, it’s…” Hanzo’s palm was still moving on his shaft, now slick with saliva and pre-cum. “I was... we’ll need – fuck it, Han, yer makin’ things harder…”

A long brush, flat, soft tongue down his length, and as McCree closed his eyes with a shiver Hanzo chuckled.

“You don’t say…”

McCree couldn’t but laugh briefly in return.

“Bad choice of word, right? I was looking f-for…”

“This?”

The finger sliding down his ass and rubbing slow circles around his entrance was cold and slippery, a practical answer to his request. McCree panted and looked up.

“Where did you…”

Hanzo sat up and tilted his head. At his side was what looked like a tube of something.

His voice turned into a whimper when Hanzo slid his finger inside him – slow and steady, the slight stretch a perfect counterpoint to the increasing tension in his body.

“Magic”, a keen whisper, and yet veined with sarcasm. “But I know more tricks, and more interesting. Do you want to try something?”

McCree tried to grin, but when a second digit added to the one already inside him he jerked, spreading his legs further to welcome the pressure.

“Y-Yes”, he could only say in a whisper that twisted into a desperate whine when Hanzo bent his fingers and brushed the right spot – again and again, sending spikes of electricity up McCree’s nerves.

When Hanzo slipped away from inside him the sudden loss made McCree sigh in longing.

“Lay still, then”, and McCree wanted to answer that he was not going anywhere, it felt too good to do anything but letting Hanzo do him whatever he wanted – but then again, speaking was an impossible task. McCree closed his eyes and his heart thumped so hard and fast it hurt. Hanzo shimmied out of his pants and crawled forward, straddling his hips again and leaning to kiss him - and damn, how good he tasted, with a hint of the bitter taste of his desire mixing between them. Rocking again on top of him, his breath as quickened as McCree’s, Hanzo took one of his hands and drove it up his thigh and over his ass.

Hint taken. McCree felt something thick and cold being poured on his skin and didn’t stop to wonder where indeed Hanzo had found that lube (magic, he’d said? Oh, no, wait, McCree had something he could use for an emergency, right?). Their fingers found the ring of muscle and Hanzo threw his head back when the deliberate pressure let them breach in; his panting deepened in a low growl, a sound so hot and beautiful a quiver rippled McCree’s skin. He sat up, one arm still wrapped around Hanzo’s sides and their fingers moving inside him, loosening him.

He drank in the sound falling from Hanzo’s lips and his warm breath against him. As he continued to slid in and out, the gesture made a thousand times lewder by the touch of their hands inside the clenching muscle walls, he climbed back the firm planes and valleys of Hanzo’s stomach and up to his chest. The hard muscle fit perfectly in his palm, twitching when McCree pinched the golden rings in his nipple. A gentle twist and it stiffened in his grip; some more strength and Hanzo jerked forward, moaning loud on McCree’s mouth.

“You fine, babe?”

It was his time now to bend his finger inside Hanzo and make him gasp as his eyes shot open. Maybe he nodded, maybe it was just his head bobbing with their movements, but his words were unmistakable.

“Jesse, I want you inside me – _ah_!” and his voice switched to a language McCree’d never heard before. Another pinch on his nipple, his big hand massaging his chest, and Hanzo fell forward, sending McCree on his back.

“Now… please…”

And McCree was about to consider the practical necessities of the act, but again his skin felt slippery under Hanzo’s touch. The hand stroking him was shaky, but the waves of fire it sent to his head made McCree wince; his fingers lost their grip on Hanzo’s chest and fell down, a path that led him to the Ifrit’s cock. He barely had the time for a brush of the smooth and burning tip: Hanzo gave a vicious thrust and looked him straight in the eye.

“I said – _now_ ”. He was eager and commanding, and McCree could have died from how perfect he was. His attempt at a smirk turned into a pleading look.

Open for him, Hanzo rose on his knees and pulled the fingers out of his body. A tilt of his hips and he took McCree in – a sluggish pressure at first, getting more intense with every heartbeat. They both gasped when McCree finally pushed in, in a mixture of surprise and ecstasy. Or was it, on Hanzo’s side?

For a dreadful second McCree’s gazed darted from Hanzo’s lips to his closed eyes, hands resting gently on his hips.

“Starshine?” he panted. “Are you…”

In reply, Hanzo took a deep breath and lowered himself at an excruciating pace, until their hips flushed together. McCree’s grip on the Ifrit’s sides tightened in a spasm and he held him still as if to anchor himself.

And again, they were looking at each other. As much as he wanted to fuck him hard and fast, to hear him scream as he came on his stomach, McCree felt the need to voice his constant concern.

“Han, anytime. T-Tell me to stop and I will. If you…”

“Jesse. Shut up and fuck me, would you?”

The fatal blow. As Hanzo started to move on top of him McCree ran his palms on his ass and urged him down, slamming his hips against him.

The slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the empty night and went straight to McCree’s groin, only magnified by Hanzo’s low noises of eagerness. They started to move together, deep thrusts underlined by Hanzo’s fingertips digging into McCree’s chest; his long hair was tousled, a black halo shining in the light of the stars on his tattoo, and his lip caught between his teeth was pink and soft.

It was too good already, with those small contractions around his cock blowing on the fire in his loins, but then Hanzo looked at him with a world of promises in his eyes.

“Ready?”

“F-For what? Oh, _fuck_ , Han…” A vicious snap of Hanzo’s hips got him to a perfect angle and the tension inside him threatened to shatter. But then something happened – the long hands on his chest glowed faintly blue, a gleam crawling on his arms and descending down his chest and stomach, and then…

McCree screamed in earnest when the faintest electric shock rose from the Ifrit’s body, blue coils wrapping around his cock in a deep and low vibration.

His hips stuttered at the unexpected wave of pleasure, and good thing Hanzo stopped immediately with his trick or McCree would have come here and now.

There was a smirk on Hanzo’s mouth, full of mischief and amusement, but when McCree set a harder, faster pace his face went blank and his eyes fluttered close.

“I... I take you liked it…”

“Do it again and I won’t last much… much longer…” he gasped, pointing his feet on the ground and lifting Hanzo with a brutal thrust. The Ifrit let out a loud moan and raked down McCree’s torso – and, of course, he did it again. A longer, deeper vibration that resonated through every bone and nerve.

Panting, dizzy from the need for release, McCree winced uncontrollably; all the coordination he could gather went to his hand, his grip moving along Hanzo’s hipbone and between them.

The erected dick was bouncing with their movements, hitting his fingers and making them tingle with the desire of taking it into his hand.

“Can… Can I?” Again, he had to ask; Hanzo opened his eyes and licked his lips.

“Do it. Touch me”, and fuck, McCree had never thought he could have loved so much being told what to do in such a bossy tone, but there he was, sweaty and pliant to every request of his beautiful genie. He knew he could do better than those uneven strokes, trembling and erratic, but Hanzo didn’t seem to mind. His breath felt heavier, his skin desperately flushed as their pace grew more frantic.

The familiar sensation of heat and tension reached a breaking point. McCree gulped – there was still blood in his mouth and he couldn’t care less – and his voice was an unsteady whisper.

“Babe, I’m close, I… I…”

Hanzo didn’t stop. Quite the contrary: he moved faster, and a tell- tale tightening of the slick walls around him suggested to what small part of his brain could still process the information that McCree was not the only one who was getting too close to keep it going.

He _tried_ – he really tried to slow down and wait and everything, but Hanzo’s hand grabbed his own around his cock and squeezed. Another electric shock, a shiver trough their bodies.

“Come. I – I need you to… come right now”, and that hoarse, demanding whisper undid the last constraints in McCree’s self-control. It started with a rumble, a gravelly sound scraping his throat, and quickly rose into a wordless cry. Pleasure and lust and something golden and burning spun behind McCree’s closed lids as that long held back tension snapped and shattered.

Somewhere above the stars – all his world was darkness and explosions of blinding light as his orgasm melted his body and soul – he felt Hanzo gasp and mutter something fast and frenzied; before winding down entirely he looked at him.

Clenched teeth, head tipped on his chest, quivering long lashes – and with a muffled roar he came too. The burst of light was blinding, the tattoo so bright McCree couldn’t look at it; Hanzo released himself in his hand, and the sheer familiarity with the sensation drew a sigh from McCree’s lips.

Slowly Hanzo stilled on top of him and the stars dulled without ceasing their supernatural flickering. A long look that kept their eyes – shiny and hooded and oh, so full of words unsaid – hooked together, and still unsteady on the arm he perched himself on McCree sat up, moving his hand from the ground to Hanzo’s cheek in a gentle caress. The Ifrit took a long breath and leaned in his palm, a signal that suggested McCree could dare some more. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead and the tip of his nose, and Hanzo chuckled softly and tilted his head up. Their lips met again and McCree smiled.

“Are you ok?” he asked, and his voice was weaker and rougher than he’d intended.

“Better than ok”, and he kissed him back, with just a hint of tongue. McCree felt boneless and something more than satisfied. It was like his skin was too sensitive and yet he couldn’t think of surviving without the sensation of Hanzo snuggled against him. After a while he pulled back and nuzzled his lover’s neck, making him squirm as his beard tickled the soft skin of his throat.

“We’ve made a bit of a mess”, he grinned. Hanzo sighed and moved, letting McCree slip out of him; he cocked an eyebrow and a snicker tug at the corner of his mouth. He blinked and McCree laughed feeling his hand and stomach clean instantly. “Oh, babe, yer spoilin’ me”, he grinned. He rolled on his side and tackled Hanzo down with him, keeping him close.

“Magic”, he said again, and the relaxed amusement in the Ifrit’s voice was like sweet, fresh water for McCree’s heart. Still naked, their hearts slowly returning to a normal pace, they lay with their legs intertwined.

Some time later, when McCree was starting to feel pleasantly sleepy, Hanzo spoke again.

“I need you to know”, he whispered. “This… meant a lot to me”. McCree roused at once and quickly kissed him again.

“And for me it meant the world, starshine”, he replied in a small voice, his heart almost choking him. Hanzo seemed satisfied and sighed happily, settling back on McCree’s chest and rubbing circles on his stomach.

For what seemed like hours – how long that night was, a whole lifetime and some more – they just stood like that, speaking only in gentle touches and soft kisses.

There was a shadow lurking in their bliss and they both knew it, but for now they didn’t mind.

McCree sighed.

_This is something more than a fairytale._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This chapter was a real challenge. I know the topic treated is *really* delicate and I hope with all of my heart I did it justice. As I said before, this story is mostly about respect, consent and freedom of choice, and I think Hanzo and Jesse had to discuss the issue at one point or another. Finding freedom by reclaiming one's own body and pleasure is something really really important to me.  
> Sex can be (and often is) so much more than just sex - it can mean sharing something intimate, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and trusting your partner. Even when things are complicated, it can be a way of healing, and this is what I tried to portray here.  
> Once more, thank you all for following this story, I hope you won't be disappointed and will have as much fun in reading as I had in writing :)
> 
> Val  
> @acupofgeek


	8. A genie's last wish

McCree’s heart was reassuring under his ear, his chest warm and slightly sweaty against his skin. His finger traced light lines on the curves and edges of McCree’s stomach.

He could have drifted away into a blissful sleep, cradled by the strong arms circling him and the sweet breath rustling his hair. Hanzo snuggled closer, eyes shut and a painful happiness flowing through his body.

He was himself again. That single act of freedom and defiance had mended something inside him, and yet…

Holding his breath Hanzo frowned and struggled to banish the shadow crawling upon his heart.

_I won’t let reality spoil this moment for me - for us. We could never have more than this, I can’t throw this ray of light away._

McCree curled a long strand of hair around his fingers, his caress rubbing gentle circles on Hanzo’s scalp and making him shiver in delight despite his troubles.

“Starshine, I’m afraid we have a problem here”, he whispered. Hanzo tensed immediately and stood up; his tattoo was still bright enough to show him the sweetest of smiles on McCree’s face, bruised as it was, and doubt took his concern’s place.

“What do you mean?” Because, truth to be told, there were _so_ many problems to deal with he couldn’t pick one. McCree ran his hands up his arms and drew him back in his embrace, placing a soft kiss on his temple. Hanzo couldn’t but relax a bit – that was not the attitude for bad news.

“See, now I should get up, put my pants on and go back to whatever bullshit awaits us out of this tent. And this is hard enough already, ‘cause there’s no place I’d rather be than in your arms”. He shifted on the side and looked Hanzo in the eye.

He could feel it. That _something_ he dared not name shone on McCree’s face and sang from his heart; Hanzo gulped as he realized the feeling was mutual.

“But… what am I supposed to do? I don’t wanna lose you, Hanzo. Ever. And at the same time…”

A long caress on his hair and cheek, the back of McCree’s hand brushing his neck in a touch so light it sent goosebumps up his skin.

“One wish left. I can’t stop thinking about it… the only thing I want is to take us somewhere safe and be with you, but I know that once I’ve made that wish you’ll be gone forever. Beyond eternity”.

Hanzo tried to swallow the lump in his throat and a small sob shivered in his chest. McCree held him tighter and threw a long leg over his hips.

“And at the same time”, the deep voice was little more than a quiver in the air, the dark eyes fixed in his own bright and completely sincere, “I can’t keep you like this. As… as long as there’s this wish between us we’re together, but it’s wrong. It’s a leash I don’t want to…”

A brutal kiss interrupted him. Hanzo squeezed his eyes and blindly searched for McCree’s lips, holding back tears and the most heart-wrenching sadness he’d ever felt.

McCree cupped his face in his hands and returned the desperate brush of tongue, his chest heaving against Hanzo’s. When they broke away he shook his head, forehead resting on Hanzo’s.

“I mean it. If… if only you were human, if you were free, I could… I _would_ let myself fall in love with you”.

“It’s too late for me”, he confessed, holding McCree to his chest and regretting having let their perfect moment turn into despair. He clung to him and hated the whole world – himself for being a fool, for his weakness in attacking Genji and for his prison, Doomfist’s threat and the entirety of space and time that was going to tear them apart.

McCree said the words he wouldn’t allow to shape into his mind and now it was too late. It was real, and he felt he could have cried for the first time in ages.

“I don’t wanna let you go, Hanzo”.

“Nor do I”, he admitted, and it broke his heart for how true it was. He flung his arms around McCree’s neck and buried his nose in his shoulder. Star-crossed lovers at their finest, and the irony of the situation only made his soul bleed more.

“There _must_ be a way. I can’t believe there isn’t – you _deserve_ your freedom, I know this, but at the same time what if it’s just me bein’ selfish and… and…”

Hanzo bit his tongue to stop the words from forming, but not enough.

“There… there is…”

He stopped abruptly and hid his face on McCree’s neck, refusing to let go even when he gasped and grabbed his arms.

_You think you’re being selfish, and look at me. I’m unworthy of this blessing – first I say I won’t use you, then I’m too weak to stop my mouth from running._

“Hanzo, please, look at me – I beg you, look at me, babe”, and frantic hands were on his face again, pulling it upwards in a rough caress. Hanzo didn’t want to, but he forced himself to open his eyes. McCree’s were glistening with tears, clinging to his thick lashes and sparkling in the dancing light.

“Jesse, don’t ask me. It would be unworthy of me, please, I…”

“Then there _is_ a way, I heard correctly”. The amber gaze deepened, scanning the bottom of Hanzo’s soul and making him feel exposed. Still, he couldn’t back away from him.

“I’ve sworn to serve my sentence until the end of time, I…”

“You said it yourself: your brother forgave you. Why can’t you do the same? How could… oh. _Oh_!”

The sparkle in McCree’s eyes was so sudden and bright it lit up his face. A deep realization that shook him to the core, and Hanzo trembled – he’d given himself away.

McCree _knew_.

A wolfish grin parted his lips.

“I got it, starshine. I can set you free, right? I’m the only one who could do it, and I knew this already. But you meant something else…”

“I didn’t mean anything, I…”

“Don’t lie to me and stop punishing yerself like that!” Another kiss, hard, rough. Hanzo cursed the wave of fire burning under his skin. “I have one wish left, so I can…”

Voices in the distance. They both froze, anguish and unspoken promises darkening into fear. McCree blinked and, without taking his eyes off Hanzo, slowly moved back to retrieve his clothes.

Hanzo did the same, a swift transition to a half spiritual form; shrouds of blue smoke writhed around his body, hiding the twinkle of his stars.

McCree dressed up in complete silence and looked out from the slit left open by the tent’s door. Nothing in sight, and Hanzo floated by his side.

“Do you know them?” he asked in a breath at his ear, and McCree gritted his teeth. “Are they your friends or…”  
  
“Listen”, he interrupted him, and Hanzo extended his senses.

They were men. Hushed tones rumbling through the night, the sharp clack of a firearm being loaded.

His mouth felt numb, his head dangerously empty.

“Doomfist”, said McCree, crouched by the entrance with his fists closed on his legs. Hanzo wasn’t really listening.

His eyes scanned the darkness, but the shape he was looking for was perfectly formed in his mind. Dark golden and round, covered in inscriptions.

His cage. His lamp.

Abandoned by the container.

Hanzo grabbed McCree’s wrist and pulled him back, his finger digging into the contracted muscle.

“We must go. The lamp’s still out there!”

The look on his mortal’s face went from worry to pure panic. Blood left his face and his skin rippled under his touch, but only for a fleeting moment. His eyes hardened and he nodded.

“Stay hidden. I go get it”.

“You’re not going anywhere without me, Jesse”.

At this McCree, under the mask of fear he couldn’t shake off, almost smiled. He ran his knuckles on Hanzo’s cheekbone and bit his lip.

“Ok. Together, then”.

Hanzo was the first to leave the tent. The container was not far, a straight path and less than five minutes of walk. But now it was different: McCree, at his side, was low on his knees and looked painfully vulnerable – no weapons, no way to protect himself from their enemies’ attacks. From the tangle of terror oppressing his chest, Hanzo felt an outburst of bright, pure affection.

_I will keep you safe, whatever it takes._

They moved in slow steps, silent on the cold sand and yet dangerously loud in the complete stillness of the night. As he floated without a sound inches from the ground, Hanzo winced every time McCree’s feet hit the ground, scratching and hesitating before every other step.

A blade of white light flashed in the distance and crept upon the sand a dozen feet on their left. Gasping, Hanzo grabbed McCree’s arm; they shared a silent stare of panic and both jumped behind a dune, just in time to avoid the torch, now lighting the very place they’d stood seconds before.

No one dared to breathe. They were shaking – Hanzo felt McCree’s hand move restlessly against his side – and they both knew they needed to think. And quickly, too.

Hanzo peeked from their shelter as soon as the light was gone, and he saw him. A man in a black balaclava, with a rifle in hand and a head torch on his forehead. Somewhere behind them more footsteps, the creaking of a radio.

“ _Search the area, they must be here_ ”.

“How can we be sure?”

“ _That’s the only real track we have, the man in the shop mentioned the kid was heading to Harut. So either they’re here already or they will. We’re not leaving until dawn_ ”.

McCree growled beside him.

“Fuck”.

Hanzo didn’t need to reply or to ask for details. He too had recognized Doomfist’s voice; and maybe McCree needed to be reassured that it was not his fault, but speaking now would be an awfully bad idea. He poked him in the side and gestured at the mercenary in the distance with his head – he was leaving and they could move.

But McCree hesitated. He leaned to Hanzo and placed his lips by his ear.

“Not so fast. No more cover”.

Damn, he was right. Hanzo checked again, and if the container was already in sight it was true that on their path there was not a single place for them to hide. They’d been lucky so far: clearly, Doomfist and his men hadn’t found the lamp yet, and he was sure it was still half buried in the sand where they’d sat and drunk.

He closed his eyes and summoned all the calm he could. Dark smoke was still lingering around him, the only way to hide the stars on his arm that seemed to react to McCree’s presence, and he wished he had someone he could call for help. Genji would come for sure, but this was not his realm and he had no way to intervene.

He was alone, but they still had a chance. Hanzo could just blink and snatch the lamp, then go back to McCree and…

_And then what? You can’t take him away unless he makes a wish – you stretched the rules to help him but this is too much. What if he does it? You’ll be back to your prison and he’ll be lost forever._

“Boss, I got something here!”

The rough voice behind the dune startled them. Hanzo caught a glimpse of light at the corner of his eye, spreading bright on the footprints McCree’d left from the tent to their hideout.

He didn’t hear the word, covered by the sound of the mercenary’s boots on the sand, but McCree’s ‘fuck’ vibrated through his skin. They exchanged a terrified look as the stranger approached.

“Someone’s been here recently, I’ve got a track”, and the voice dropped to a whisper.

He was so close Hanzo could see his shadow on the traces on the ground. McCree’s hand found his own and squeezed a warning: his eyes were wide, his lips contracted in a snarl and moved to form a sentence.

 _Distract him_.

Hanzo blinked his understanding and McCree lifted three fingers.

 _One_.

His ring finger folded to his palm. The mercenary was no more than five feet behind Hanzo; one more step and he’d have been able to see the muzzle of his rifle.

 _Two_.

McCree bent his middle finger. He was sweaty, small panting breaths shaking his chest.

Hanzo could hear the rustling of the soldier’s uniform, fabric on Kevlar. He tried to relax, to direct his power and concentration on one last exception to his rules and the final concession to McCree’s first wish.

 _Three_.

He didn’t stop to check. The moment McCree rolled to his side and jumped from behind the dune he was already in action.

A wave of energy radiated from his body and hit the mercenary; the man managed to fire once, but his shot went straight to the sky as Hanzo’s magic threw him backward in an uncoordinated flight. One down, how many to go? Hanzo turned and saw McCree run for his life, lifting clouds of sand in his trail.

The radio croaked from where it’d fallen.

“ _Number 3, what’s happening?”_

Shadows were gathering around them – the shot had recalled the other mercenaries, and before Hanzo could blink guns were roaring in the air.

“Jesse! Watch out!”

He was almost there, thirty more feet and he could have taken the lamp. Hanzo felt a rain of bullets shiver through his body and ignored them all, floating higher in the air to play a better bait, but when he glimpsed the huge shape of Doomfist appear from the darkness and aim at McCree with a snarl on his lips he let a jolt of blue fire roll to the man.

It was weak, and as Doomfist dodged it with a jump Hanzo cursed in his mind. Of course: the first of McCree’s wishes was not fueling his magic anymore, and soon he’d have been useless.

_I stretched the rules too much._

McCree ducked right when Doomfist rose his shotgun again and Hanzo was not quick enough to react. Luckily, though, McCree was: he jumped forward a fraction of a second before the explosion, and the bullet knocked his hat off his head, leaving him unharmed.

“This way! Get that lamp, you useless idiots!”

Two men went for McCree, a third jumped over his stunned companion and didn’t even try to load his rifle.

Hanzo shifted back as the man ran to him, avoiding the stock aimed at his head and forming back from his spiritual form to release another energy shock through the mercenary’s chest. A shriek, a thud as the man fell on his back some ten feet away, and he focused back on McCree.

Through the blue smoke surrounding him Hanzo saw his master roll on his side and resume his run for the last feet dividing him from the lamp; one last leap, a slide and he closed the gap. Doomfist reloaded but was not fast enough: McCree landed on the lamp and crashed his shoulder against the container’s wall, making the metal wall rattle and letting out a loud huff, lost in the echo of the impact.

Hanzo dared to take a sigh of relief and checked their surroundings. The first enemy he’d attacked was starting to groan on the ground, his companions still motionless, scattered all around.

Doomfist was still alive and well, unfortunately; McCree grabbed the lamp and staggered back on his feet, raising his arm in the air.

Gold glimmered in his fist and his face was a pale mask of bruises and rage.

“Ok, Doomfist, I got this! Now if ya don’t wanna things to get real nasty behave and lower your gun”.

The mercenary boss stood still for a moment, and Hanzo was sure he was going to shoot nonetheless. He was the only one not wearing any kind of camouflage, his square face ghostly in the cold light of his torch.

“What makes you think I will, kid?”  
  
“Oh, dunno, maybe the fact that I still have _this_?” and he wiggled the lamp. “Come on, enough talkin’. Off with your gun and back away slowly. I’ve no time for your shit”. His voice roared in the desert, different from what Hanzo’d heard in their days together. It was hard, snarky, and the face he’d learned to love was contracted in a ruthless grimace.

He looked dangerous. Behind the tousled mass of his hair, half ruffled, half squished by his hat, his eyes were those of a predator, and Hanzo shivered. This was McCree’s past floating to the surface.

Lost in the dizziness of the impending threat it took him a moment to process the gesture of McCree’s free hand. A quick flick of his fingers.

A silent call.

Magic still crackled on his skin as he flew to the container; halfway through, he shifted to a fully physical form and marveled at how tensed his muscles felt. He’d taken it too far, dwelling on spells without the supernatural push of an explicit wish, but no matter how much he needed to go back to the lamp and rest, he knew this was the place he needed to be.

When he reached McCree, Doomfist took one step further and laughed. It was the low barking of an animal, and Hanzo gritted his teeth in grim anticipation.

“Listen, let’s not waste too much time, shall we? I have a big boss who requested that little lamp of yours and I’ve got to bring it them by midday. Now _you_ be a good boy and give it here, and no one will get hurt”.

“Ah-ha, not so fast, ugly version of a Rocky villain”. He lowered his arm and pointed at him with the lamp. His other hand moved blindly, shaking as it found Hanzo’s and squeezed it. A warning?

McCree’s thought was so strong it bolted through Hanzo’s head.

_Bear with me._

He reciprocated the grip and swallowed all the anger and dread that were scratching his throat. McCree grinned – nothing like his usual warm or sarcastic smiles, and Hanzo wondered how much more there was to discover about him – and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’ve got one more wish left, so I’d suggest you stop playin’ the random badass dude and consider how many horrible things I could do to you”.

“Kid, I…”

He took a single step forward. McCree tensed, and Hanzo let go of his hand and threw an arm in front of him; yes, he was trembling and tired, but sparkles lit up his tattoo and his eyes shone with rage.

“Don’t move. You don’t want to test an Ifrit’s wrath, mortal”.

Doomfist laughter lowered into a growl that shook his shoulders.

“Look at you two – you could be cute if you weren’t standing in my way. Or in that of world peace, for what it matters”.

McCree choked on a curse.

“World peace? _Really_? Next thing will be yer not some Michael Bay’s league bad guy but Gandhi reincarnated?”

At this Doomfist shrugged.

“Why not? Give the lamp to the right person and there will be no more wars. _Ever_. I call this peace”.

“Well, last time I checked Wikipedia this sounded more like tyranny! Fuck off, Doomfist, yer fooling no one!”

The huge mercenary tilted his head to the side and kept his hands up. The look on his face was a terrifying parody of patience.

“Do it then. You said you’ve got one more wish? I’m here to see what your pretty genie can do. Surprise me”.

“You won’t get to enjoy the surprise too much once yer dead!”

“And then what? I know how this thing works, I’ve been tracking that fucking lamp for years before you took it from under my nose”. One more step. Now Hanzo could see the icy void of his eyes. “Done with the wishes part, the genie disappears. And trust me, you’re not very convincing when you try to sound ruthless”.

“You are bold for someone who witnessed what kind of power I can unleash”. Hanzo tried to summon his most frightening aura, but to no avail. He felt too vulnerable – he _felt_ too much, and McCree hissed at his side.

“Spare your powers for what will come next, genie. There’s not much you can do unless explicitly asked, and you already look weaker than when I last saw you in action. Besides…”

An engine rumbled in the distance – but not so much in the distance, since Doomfist fell silent and his face turned to stone. McCree too turned to look at the source of the noise, and for a second a flash of relief sparkled on his face.

Hanzo felt it all – _they’re here, we’re safe, we made it_ – and let out a small sigh at how intense it was, but then something tickled his spiritual senses. An intention more than a movement, a shock of white-hot rage that scorched his soul. He had no time to turn around or to form a coherent thought, only pushed McCree aside half a second too late.

Doomfist was not a fair fighter. A gun in his hand, hidden the gods knew where, its muzzle pointing forward.

A bang.

A muffled scream as the bullet made its way through Hanzo’s body, leaving him unharmed, and exploded in a rain of blood.

The lamp fell from McCree’s hand and Hanzo barely had the time to turn around and grab him before he collapsed to the ground.

“Jesse… Jesse no, no no… please no…”

His face, drained of all color, was blank, his eyes wide; a dull and inarticulated moan rose from his throat. Hanzo couldn’t stand to look at the wound, and yet it haunted every part of his being. It was not a hole nor a slash: half of McCree’s arm was a bloodied mess, his elbow bent the wrong way, a white splinter of bone peeking from the shattered skin.

“See, was it that difficult? Those kids today have no respect for their elders, I swear to God”. Doomfist marched to them but Hanzo couldn’t see him. His whole being was tied in a knot of horror and loss, his eyes enraptured by McCree’s blown pupils.

“Jesse, the lamp. Take the lamp before it’s too late, you can… I can save you… please, please make a wish, I beg you…”

McCree’s lips were going grey and too much blood was dripping on the sand. How long before it would have been too late? He was beyond suffering already, shock and weakness thick in his voice.

“Hey…”  
  
“I don’t want to lose you. Not… not like this…”

“Look, why don’t you die already? Oh, whatever, I can give you time for a last goodbye, but be quick”, snorted Doomfist. The man walked to them and took the lamp from the ground, rolling it in his palms with a satisfied grin and taking some steps back. “I’ll give you some privacy. I won already”.

Hanzo rose his head in seething rage, but all he could manage was a cloud of blue sparkles. The world was welcoming a new dawn, and everything in front of his eyes was shielded by a wall of tears.

“Hey… starshine…”

“Come on, you fool of a mortal, say it!” Hanzo felt blood pound slower against his palm, his skin sticky. A tear dripped from his lashes and fell on McCree’s cheek. “I can save you!”

“I… I know, but… there’s more to save”. His breath came in soft wheezes, the fingers raising to brush Hanzo’s cheek already cold. “There’s no… no genie without a lamp. No lamp without a genie”.

“What… no, no stop it now, this is madness, you’re _dying_!”

“See you on the other side, then. This is a wish…” And with the last remains of his strength he pulled Hanzo down for a whisper that was almost a kiss. “ _Be what you want to be_ ”.

The last words rang like a bell in the air, nothing more than a soft vibration and yet so powerful they covered the approaching thunder of cars, the furious howl from Doomfist. McCree smiled one last time and his hand fell from Hanzo’s face, leaving him paralyzed with shock.

His heart sunk in his chest and time tangled in a meaningless coil as he watched McCree’s eyes go blank and flutter close, leaving only a slit of white under his lids.

Then it began. First it was Doomfist scream, a sound so primal Hanzo had to look up from the body he was still clinging to.

The lamp was bright red in the first lights of the day, a burning relic scorching Doomfist’s hands and forcing him to drop it.

“You… you piece of shit!” he shrieked, but Hanzo didn’t really ear him. Or see him, or feel anything but an excruciating pain running through his every nerve. His muscles contracted wildly and he fell forward, over McCree’s motionless shape.

Blue. His face was blue and his blood was blue and the whole world was blue and too bright – as if his own eyes were about to burst from his skull. He panted and sobbed wildly, fingers twitching and his body arching back while dark figures appeared on the near horizon. Something crawled under his skin, breaking and sealing it again in a flow of power he could never control, and somewhere above him, or inside him, Genji was calling his name.

 _Be what you want to be._ Freedom was not enough.

It ended abruptly as it had started. Hanzo fell forward and the sand felt coarser, colder on his bare skin. He panted, tears streaking his face and his body still shaking, and looked up.

 _Human_.

Just like the man bleeding to death at his feet, a mortal he’d called master and learned to love, one who’d chosen to save the world over himself.

Just like Doomfist, gray with anger and fumbling with his gun with burned hands.

Hanzo saw it happen as if through water. Slow, sluggish, unavoidable. The weapon looking him in the eye, the index quivering on the trigger, pulling it when the faraway noise turned into screams from shapes clad in black.

Doomfist shot, and Hanzo watched dazed the bullet draw circles in the air.

When it pierced his chest, the desert turned red. Beyond skin and muscle, breaking bones in its trail – once. Twice, as Doomfist shot again.

A deep buzzing filled his ears and his head to the brim of his consciousness. Hanzo gasped and hunched forward, annihilated by the taste of iron thick on his tongue. White lights danced at the corner of his eyes, melting in tears that fell on McCree’s ashen skin; he tried to breathe – he needed to, his body screamed for air as life slowly poured from his body, but as he inhaled his ribcage burst in a firework of blinding pain. He was vaguely aware of other explosions, people screaming around them. Doomfist cried out once before falling face first in the sand, smoke rising from the back of his head, where a crimson spurt shone in the early sun, slower and slower.

Red over his eyes, red on his hands when Hanzo lifted his fingers and touched his own lips. A cough, more like a death rattle, and blood poured from his mouth.

For the first time in his whole existence he felt cold – creeping from his fingers to his arms, up to his heart.

His hand, shaking and dirty, drifted on McCree’s face.

“ _Brother? What’s happening?”_

He blinked but the world was going dark, tilting on the side. No, it was him, he fell limp on McCree; he would have cried out from the maddening pain in his chest but there was no more air in his lungs, too little blood in his veins.

“ _Hanzo, what the fuck are you doing?”_

_Genji?_

“Wounded civilians, over here! Quickly!”

Blue eyes found him, a tall figure with a smoking rifle in hand and broad shoulders.

His eyelids fell shut, and in the darkness he was almost aware of the people surrounding him, hands on his back, concerned voices.

He didn’t care.

The stars on his tattoo were dull, and his own light turned off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, ok, bear with me. I promise it's going to be good - just have patience. I'm a big softie and I live for happy endings, but I like to suffer too, so here it is.  
> I spent weeks thinking about how to phrase Jesse's last wish the best possible way, and I think this could work. Poor kid, he's going through so much and still tries his best...  
> I still can't believe it's almost over. One new fic is in development, but it will have to wait until fall - I have this small thing called "I'm getting married in three weeks and OMFG WHAT IS TIME" that gets in the way :3
> 
> As usual, thank you all! And remember you can find me on tumblr @acupofgeek, if you search the tag "fanart" you'll find some stuff about this fic too!


	9. A future for two

_Beep_.

The sound lit a flash of light in the darkness of his world. A warm, tight darkness where he floated weightless.

 _Beep_.

The rest of reality was somewhere else, closed beyond his reach and speaking to him in faraway whispers. Soft words, hushed voices, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton.

Everything was quiet, except for that piercing noise.

 _Beep_.

McCree took a quick, shaky breath and his throat ached, as if his lungs were dry and filled with sand.

Something was wrapped around his legs, heavy and cool on his skin. A prickling in his right arm, and that fucking beep piercing his brain.

He tried to breathe again, gasped and squirmed on what felt like a hard mattress. Every part of him seemed nailed down to that stiff surface, but everything else – the sensation of having limbs, the simple gesture of opening his eyes – was distant.

He didn’t like it.

Panting fast he squinted, and at first all he could see was a blur of white and light blue. He blinked – his eyes too felt dry – and eventually focused on a row of small lights on what must have been a ceiling.

 _Beep_.

He turned to his right, and even laying his cheek on the pillow felt like running a marathon. Everything – the sheets, the air, his own skin – smelt of some chemical.

Disinfectant?

Another beep, and he saw it. A machine, black screen and bright green lights winking at him, and at its side…

His chapped lips moved without a sound.

 _Gabe_.

Silhouetted by the light coming from a window Gabriel Reyes was slumped on a chair, his arms crossed on his chest and the black hood of his sweatshirt pulled on his head, lulling forward. A soft snore counterpointed the noises from the machine.

Kicking weakly McCree tried to move, and at the rustling of fabric Gabe grunted and his eyes shot open.  

Red, puffy, underlined by dark circles and bruises, they rested on McCree’s face and shone with tears. He jumped on his feet and reached the bed.

“Hey there, kid… it’s alright, ok? Stay calm, you’re fine, we’re taking care of you”, and his trembling hand hovered on McCree’s forehead.

He tried to speak, but words were a tangle in his head. All he could do was stare at Gabe, his chest rising in quickened breaths and his heart swelling at his sight.

Gabe was there. Pale, drawn, but alive and with him.

“Hush, Jesse, it’s ok, I’m here and I’m not leaving you”.

Here.  
_Where_?

He looked down his arm – an IV piercing the back of his hand, plastered on his skin – and whined. The pulse in his throat and head was fast as the wings of a butterfly but ten thousand times louder, and why was he feeling like he could choke on tears?

Gabe caress smoothed his sweaty hair back. He was speaking again, gentle little nothings meant to reassure him, the occasional mention of names. Fareeha, Ana… he knew them, yeah, he cared for them and yet there was something else.

 _Someone_ else.

A face burst into his memory. Black hair, sharp cheekbones, an austere nose and the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Stars shining on his skin, their taste on his lips.

“H-Hanzo…”

A patchwork of memories, scraps from that last night in Harut, flooded his mind. Gunshots, blood, one last wish.

McCree gasped for air and tried to move, to sit up, but his body was so heavy and out of place he could only flounder under the sheets. Gabe’s hands fell to his shoulders, steady but gentle as he tried to keep him down.

“Hey, hey – stand still, Jesse, don’t…”

“Where is he?”

Was that his voice? That wheezing, raucous whimper climbing through his lips didn’t sound like him at all.

“Jesse, what are you talking about? Stop fussing, you lost a lot of blood and…”

“ _Where is he_?” he gasped again, raising his head from the pillow and looking Gabe in the eye without seeing him properly.

“Doomfist? Dead, it’s ok, you did good, we’re safe – please, kid, you’re making me worry, lay down!”

“Hanzo! Where is Hanzo? Tell… tell me!”

And he lifted his hands to grab Gabe’s hoodie.

Or that was the plan. The fingers of his right hand dug into the black fabric, but on the left side there was _nothing_.

McCree saw the bandages wrapped around where his elbow was supposed to be. Only empty air in place of his forearm and left hand, and a tingling sensation that crawled from his missing fingers up to his shoulder and jaws.

He let go of Gabe and stopped breathing, eyes wide and fixed on the stump.

The world went dark at the corners and the sounds felt dulled – the insistent beeping increased in frequency, piercing and yet so far away, and Gabe’s grip on his shoulders tightened.

McCree could see his mouth open in a desperate call for help but didn’t really understand his words, deafened by the chaos of his heart throbbing in his ears at an uneven pace. He wriggled and kicked the air, hitting Gabe too, and with a snap of remote pain ripped the IV from his hand.

“Hanzo…”

Was he speaking again? How could he still form words in such a state? Or was that name – that face, that smile – only a ghost haunting his fantasy? Gabe was crying out above him, his strong arms pushing him down. From the dusk shielding his eyes McCree saw a pale, blonde figure run to him, and immediately after the sting of a needle in his skin.

The beeping continued, high-pitched and infuriating, but he couldn’t fight anymore. He blinked, almost feeling a tear roll down his temple as he lay down again, then everything went completely dark.

_Where are you?_

 

It was hours later when he woke up for good.

McCree floated to the surface of consciousness after a long, dreamless sleep and felt strange in his own body. The covers were rough on his bare skin, the smell of chemicals thick in his nose; he frowned and grunted, failing in his first attempt at lifting his arms to rub his face. His bones were too heavy, his muscles too weak to cooperate properly.

At least the machine by his side was silent, and he was pretty sure he was not dead.

“… on his head. A good bounty, too, and – well, I discussed the issue with my superiors and we think the kid deserves it. He’s suffered enough”.

“Thank you, commander Morrison, I…”

“Jack. It’s – just Jack, if you don’t mind, Gabriel”.

A low chuckle came from beyond the closed door of his room. McCree snickered and opened his eyes.

Gabe was near, and this was the best thing he could wish for.

The chair by his bed was empty but for his hat, the leather pierced by a burned hole.

He tried to prop himself on his hands and sit up, but the sudden unbalance on his left side reminded him of his current – and final – condition. Snarling between gritted teeth McCree sat against the pillows, cradling his missing arm on his chest.

He didn’t want to look, but delaying the moment of truth was not going to do him any good.

A deep breath, a curse, and here it was. White bandages stained in red, his upper arm all brownish and yellow from disinfectant on his skin and the flesh pulsating faintly.

He knew it, and yet accepting it was a whole different story. Lip caught between his teeth, he forced himself to look again, to make peace with the fact that he’d lost a limb and there was no turning back.

_Ok, big boy, keep it cool. Yer alive, the world is rescued and you’ve got another hand. It could be worse._

But tears swelled in his eyes nonetheless. He tried to swallow them down but they spilled down his cheeks, trailing salted and warm on his lips.

It was foolish and he was not a child anymore to behave like that, but something in his core had broken and he just couldn’t keep it together.

“Goddammit!” he hissed, hitting the side of the bed with his fist. The impact resonated in the small hospital room, but it didn’t really hurt. Every sensation was still dulled, even if his head was starting to clear.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go”.

“Sure. You’ll find me around, I’ll have the documents ready by tonight”. A voice he didn’t know, that commander Gabe’d been talking to, faded in the distance. McCree quickly wiped his face on his shoulder and sniffed, but when the door opened and Gabe smiled to him he felt he could have cried again.

He’d missed him, good God he’d missed him so much, and when the man reached his bed and ruffled his hair he felt tempted to let him hold him and seek comfort in his almost fatherly figure.

Instead he just swallowed and cracked a smile.

“Good morning, Jesse. How is it?”

“An utter load of shit, but it could be way worse”, and he relaxed against the pillows with a sigh. Gabe sat on the chair and fiddled with his fingers, careful not to look at McCree’s wound.

The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, and after a while McCree grinned.

“So yer already at the ‘just Jack’ stage? Is he cute at least?”

“Oh, shut up, you’re one to talk!” But that awkward approach melted away some of the embarrassment. Gabe pushed his chair near the bed and patted McCree’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, kid. The idea of losing you made me – well, nervous. To say the least”.

“It takes more than a shotgun to get rid of me. And more than a warlord, some mercenaries, gravity, the desert and so on”.

With a grin, Gabe squeezed his hand and fell back on the chair.

“You’re a reckless bastard”.

“That’s why you like me”, and some of the horror dissipated from his heart. After a sigh McCree looked out of the window. “Where are we?”

“Gibraltar. Military hospital. I – uh – got in contact with some dubious guy from the secret services and they took Doomfist’s thing _in their hands_ … oh fuck, sorry”, he blushed and looked down.

“Oh, please, don’t. I have a whole life of puns awaiting me, and maybe one of those cool cyber prosthetics”, and he waved the stump. Oddly enough, now that he wasn’t alone looking at it was not as terrible as before.

Gabe smiled at him, a bid sadly.

“Anyway, I’m really sorry. What you’ve been through… well, good thing commander Morrison…”

“Please, _call him Jack_ ”.

“Shut up, _cabròn_! Still, he’s been extremely cooperative. He’s provided you with the best healthcare available”. He hesitated, gaze still on the floor, and when he looked up at McCree his hazel eyes were deep and inquisitive. “ _Both_ of you”.

A shock of fire ignited McCree’s nerves and he sat straight, grabbing Gabe by his arm with his only hand. The sudden movement left him dizzy, but his voice didn’t falter.

“Is he here?”

“Two rooms down the corridor, with a couple of tubes stuck in his lung and…”

“How is he? Gabe, tell me, I need to know, an’ don’t you dare to lie to me because…”

“Jesse, kid: calm down. He’s going to be alright, he woke up this morning and the doctors say he’s fine. A bit confused, but not as much as we are”.

The strength he’d gathered to interrogate Gabe slowly left him and he fell back on the bed, eyes closed and lips tingling with dizziness.

Tears were choking him again, and this time he was almost sure he couldn’t blame it on shock or the aftermath of sedation alone.

Hanzo was alive, and just a couple of walls away.

Gabe rose without a sound and McCree heard the click of the door being closed. A moment later, the mattress at his feet bounced, and when he looked up he found Gabe was sitting on the bed with him, deadly serious.

“Ok, Jesse, you told me to be honest and now it’s my turn to ask the same from you. I have questions. A whole fucking lot of questions, and no explanation available”.

A shaky laughter bubbled from his chest.

“Fair enough, but you won’t believe me”.

“Yeah, whatever”, and he crossed his arms, leaning back against the bed frame. His face, tired and bruised as it was, was all attention and concern. “Who is that guy? He doesn’t look like he’s from around here, he’s dressed as a freaking character out of a book and covered in jewels like I’ve never seen before. No ID, no documents, and the only thing I know about him is that his name’s Hanzo. Or at least, that’s what you said”.

“Oh. Er… yeah, that’s his name. And of course he’s got no ID or anything, I – uh – never considered this…”

Gabe shooed his worry away with his hand.

“Jack – mph – _commander Morrison_ is taking care of that, too. A fake document is a little thing to get, consider it a part of the UN thank you for your help in catching Doomfist”.

“Really? That’s… that’s great!” The smile tugging his lips was growing warmer with every moment, but Gabe didn’t let him get away with it.

“That and some cash, but try to play the bounty hunter once more and I’ll lock you up in my trunk and leave you there. But back to my question: _who is Hanzo_?”

McCree fumbled with a variety of answers, but in the end Gabe was right – he’d been honest with him, hadn’t he? – and lying to him was unacceptable.

Not that the truth was any better.

He took a deep breath and ruffled his hair.

“It’s weird. Extremely weird, and you probably won’t believe me. But here’s the thing: the whole lamp-genie-wishes thing is true, Hanzo is an Ifrit… no, _was_ ”, and his heart danced in his chest at the realization, “and Doomfist was after him for the usual bad-guy-working-for-worse-guys’ stuff. I found the lamp by accident, set Hanzo free and now the lamp is gone”. He shrugged, and it was weird how unbalanced the gesture felt, and cocked an eyebrow. “Come on. Laugh”.

But Gabe didn’t laugh. He leaned forward and looked McCree in the eye, serious and austere.

“Your head is fine, there’s no trauma, or so the doctors said…”

At this it was McCree the one who laughed.

“Same thing I said the first time Han popped from the lamp. But really, it’s true, even if you won’t believe it or…”

“Jesse, I wish I could say you’re delirious but just some hours ago I saw that guy wake from his surgery, and ramble in a dozen different languages, including something like Copt, even if I know it’s impossible. So either you’re right, or he’s possessed by Satan. I’ll take your version, I like it better”.

“He… he did say there’s not a single language he can’t speak”, he admitted. Excitement was battling inside him with exhaustion, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Look, I won’t say I understand you. Not yet, not until I’ve spoken with this Hanzo of yours and analysed all the weird symbols on his arm. Maybe he’s something more, or maybe you just stumbled across a treasure and Doomfist wanted it, but…”

“The treasure’s still there! Not all of it, ok, but the inscriptions are, you can go check!”

Gabe pointed at him and grumbled.

“Not now. But remember, we’re not done with this talk yet. If that guy really speaks ancient languages I want him to work with us, and both of you will need a place to heal properly”.

“I… I…”

Suddenly his voice betrayed him. He blinked, but every time he opened his eyes Gabe looked a bit out of focus.

“Gabe, it’s the truth, I know it sounds crazy but…”

“I trust you, Jesse. Remember this, ok?” He stood up and smiled. “You look tired”.

“I’m not!” But his eyelids felt heavy and his head empty. He sighed and lay down, still looking at Gabe. “I’m sorry. About everything”.

“No need to. Now just be a good boy and get some sleep, we’ll talk again later. And”, he stopped him, frowning, “don’t call me mom. You disgrace of a son”.

McCree grinned, but he had to admit Gabe was right. He felt tired indeed, and the mattress was all too inviting to ignore it. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Fine”.

Sleep came fast, and the last thing he felt before drifting away into the world of dreams was a big, warm hand gently caressing his forehead.

 

The first time he tried to sneak from his room didn’t end good. After a whole morning of sound sleep he woke up feeling a bit stronger than before.

Strong enough to give in to the urge of checking on Hanzo. The mere thought of crossing the few feet that divided them was enough to cancel the compilation of pains and discomfort that plagued him. He stood still, eyes closed and breath forcibly slow and steady while someone – a nurse, judging from the light steps and soft whistling – paced around the room; when the door closed, leaving only silence in its trail, McCree checked his surroundings. He was alone, and on the side table were a can of coke, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He smiled, sure it was Gabe’s doing, and felt a pleasant warmth spread in his chest.

He waited some more and slowly sat up. He was still wearing the green hospital robe and didn’t consider the pile of clothes neatly folded on the chair.

Removing the IV from its support was no easy task, having only one hand available; he was dangerously near to tearing it off his skin with his teeth, but in the end he fumbled long enough to unlock it from staff.

_Alright, baby steps, Jesse. You can do it._

Still, by the time he moved his bare feet to the ground he was sweating already. He tried to ignore the faint shaking in his limbs, and especially the halo of dull suffering where his left hand was supposed to be, and after a series of deep breaths he stood up.

Bad idea.

The whole room spun wildly around him as nausea clenched his throat. He tried to move one step forward, breathing harshly through his nose, but his legs gave way. The floor tilted and welcomed him, IV and green robe and all, as he fell on his face on the clean tiles. Instinct moved his arms, but with the only support of his right arm he landed badly, hitting the still open wound and letting out a muffled scream at the explosion of suffering. Breathless, with his face pressed on the floor and his naked ass in the air, he reeled hopelessly to counter the shadows crawling to his eyes and gain a more dignified position.

The slam of the door found him still struggling to get on his knees.

“Oh my, what are you doing there?” asked a shocked female voice he didn’t recognize. McCree tried to answer but only moaned incoherently. In front of him appeared a pale woman, with blonde hair and big blue eyes, and she lifted him effortlessly from his demise. Once on his feet, if still staggering, he let her help him back to the bed with a shy smile.

“I – er – needed to pee. I thought I could… well, y’know…”

“Well good for you, this means you’ll get something to eat later, but next time call for help!” She didn’t seem to notice the fierce embarrassment burning his face and turned around. “Now be quiet, let me take care of you”.

“No! I – I mean, I can do it. Just… escort me to the toilet? Please, leave a poor man some dignity!”

The woman, with a white labcoat and a plate on her front pocked identifying her as “Dr. A. Ziegler”, smacked her lips.

“Pride. One last try, and if you fall then don’t tell me I didn’t warn you”.

“Thank you, doc”, he managed with a sheepish smile. As he made his way to the bathroom, steadily held by Dr. Ziegler small but competent hands, he decided next time he’d have to be way more careful.

His poor show, anyway, wasn’t enough to stop him. Later in the afternoon, after some overly sweet tea, he felt confident enough to give it another go, but was stopped by the arrival of Ana and Fareeha, and for the following hour he endured their affection (and a sharp slap on his head by Fareeha, too). He felt guilty for his impatience, but when in the end they left he was nearly jumping in his bed from the desire of getting up and see Hanzo.

He had to wait some more hours. The hospital wing was buzzing with activity, and it looked like there were very few patients apart from Hanzo and him, but every other hour a nurse came in to change his IV or check on him.

Eventually, night came, and with it silence. McCree pretended to be asleep when someone came in and turned off the light, and waited some more until the footsteps were gone in the distance.

This time, he took it slow. A roll on his side and he sat on the edge of the bed; getting dressed with only one hand made him curse between his teeth, and the t-shirt got stuck on his head, with the tube of the IV tangled around his arm. He was panting when he carefully slid the stump in the sleeve, and stood still for some time to stop his head from spinning. When he finally got to his feet, tucking the cigarettes and the lighter in his pocket, he breathed slowly and happily realized he was probably not going to fall again.

One step to the door, luckily still opened, and he peeked outside: no one in sight.

With a smile and his pulse racing at the thought of what expected him, he tiptoed in the corridor until he reached what he knew was the right door.

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

  
The sky was blue over his head, tinged with gold in the West. His nose was full of the smell of the sea, and birds were yelling among thin clouds draping the sun.

Hanzo blinked and looked on the empty horizon.

The sea. It had been centuries since he’d last seen it, and the ebb and flow of waves on the shore was a music he didn’t know he’d missed all along. He took a tentative step forward, and when his bare feet were brushed by warm, foamy water he felt his lips quiver in a smile.

Wherever he was, he liked it.

He turned around, following the crescent of the beach up to the rocky wall at his back, and then to the grey building looking down to the sea.

Another wave crashed on his ankles and startled him. Seagulls were floating in the distance, but apart from their occasional shrieks and the whisper of the sea it was quiet.

Weirdly so.

Hanzo frowned and lifted his hands. Five fingers each, all perfectly functioning, and a blue sweatshirt with its sleeves rolled up his arms.

No more cuffs on his wrists, and his tattoo was not shining anymore.

A shock of panic bolted through his soul. He touched his chest and found it solid and in perfect conditions, as was his hair flowing in the breeze.

_Where am I? What’s happening?_

He felt his heart race as he struggled to collect scraps of memories from what seemed like a lifetime before.

The lamp. Doomfist. Jesse and his last wish, and then that blinding pain – was he dead?

“And to think that our people considered _you_ the smart one…”

A voice resonated above him, coming from nowhere in particular and still going straight to his head. Hanzo panted and walked away from the sea, looking around with wide eyes and stumbling upon his feet.

“Genji?” he breathed out, and his own voice seemed to fill the sky.

“Oh, we’re making progresses, aren’t we? Glad to see you didn’t hit that stubborn head of yours too hard!”

The familiar voice was trembling with laughter and something else. Hanzo desperately checked the shore but found no one in sight.

“Where… where are you? Are you here or…”

Silence. A long moment of emptiness that convinced him he’d imagined it all, that he was alone in that mysterious place in a world he didn’t understand.

Then the voice spoke again, and now it came directly from behind him.

“I am”.

Hanzo turned so sharply he almost fell, and when he saw the figure standing by the cliffs his whole world shattered and scrambled.

Genji was different from what he remembered. Oh, sure, the messy green hair and bright dark eyes were the same, as unchanged was the cobweb of pale scars slashing his face and neck.

But Hanzo’d never seen him in a fully human form, and now, with a hideous orange t-shirt and white pants he looked off. As soon as their eyes met, though, a smile danced on his brother’s lips. No sarcasm or irony, no defiance or blatant self-confidence: Genji’s eyes sparkled with tears, and his whole face radiated longing.

Ten thousand years had passed, and Hanzo had to bit his hand to stifle a sigh.

The affection he’d allowed others to twist into discord was still there, magnified by an eternity of punishment and regret. Before he could think twice, before he could let his own self-loathing bring forth the darkest of thoughts, Hanzo was running.

A second of surprise and Genji was doing the same, and in no time they found each other wrapped in a desperate embrace. Hanzo let go of the last of his barriers and burst into tears, to hell with pride and dignity. He sobbed in his brother’s arms, hiding his face against Genji’s shoulder and shaking with him.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, brother, I’m so sorry – forgive me, please, I…”

“I already have”, a sigh in his ear, slender fingers brushing through his hair, trembling on him. “A long, long time ago”.

Something, deep down in Hanzo’s heart, clicked into place. He couldn’t stop weeping and it was alright. Those tears were healing the open wound between them and they were sweet, a treasure he still didn’t think he deserved but that he couldn’t let go of.

Eventually Hanzo sniffed and pulled back, running his hand under his nose and looking Genji in the eyes. They were red, shiny, full of the brotherly love he thought he’d lost forever. He sighed once more and bumped their forehead together.

“Hanzo, I missed you so much – by the stars, I’m so happy to see you again, you have no idea…”

“I’m sorry, Genji, I…”

The other Ifrit let out a shaky laugh and shook his head.

“Stop it now, you said that already”, and he fiercely kissed his forehead.

Hanzo felt weak from the overflow of emotions and could only smile back. Forgiveness, love – all gifts he never dared to think he could receive again.

Genji dropped on the sand, dragging Hanzo with him. For a long time they sat looking at each other and holding hands, spirits dancing together and finding peace after too many centuries.

It was Hanzo who broke their silence, and his voice sounded still clogged with tears.

“What’s this place?”

“Your head. Or to be more precise your dreams”. Genji crossed his legs and nodded to the horizon. The sun didn’t move from its position. “This is where I learned all I know on mankind”.

“Really? You… visited mortals in their sleep?”

“Yes, and I still do”.

Hanzo grinned.

“That’s creepy”.

“Hey! It’s not!” and he hit him with his shoulder, unbalancing him on the side. “Anyway, this is the only way I can interact with this plane of reality. You, on the other hand…”

“But why the sea?”

“Oh, that? It’s just outside the place you’re in right now. Sleeping like a baby”. He sighed contented and buried his feet in the sand. “I thought you’d like the scenario”.

“Well…” He looked at his brother again, the elegant profile lined in gold by the rays of the sunset. He couldn’t but smile again. “I do. Thank you”.

“No problem, it was either this or some weird scene from a horror movie, I couldn’t decide. Eventually I went for the heart-warming one”. Genji looked at him sideways and blinked. “But I was tempted”.

No one talked for a while, and it was perfect as it was. But Hanzo had more questions.

“You know what happened? In Harut”.

“Yes. You scared the shit out of me, brother, and I didn’t like it one bit. I tried to talk to you but you didn’t answer, you were trapped somewhere between the mortal world and our reality and I couldn’t reach you…”

_I was dying. And someone brought me back._

“For a moment, I thought you were going to appear in front of me, but then you fell back and I understood”. Genji ruffled Hanzo’s hair, making him snort in annoyance as he used to do when they were young and happy. “You’re free. Mortal, but free”.

Hanzo opened his mouth but found no words.

It was true. He remembered McCree’s last wish seconds before Doomfist’d shot him; he raised his hands and remembered: the cuffs were gone from his wrists.

Happiness and a stubborn shadow of his long regret battled inside him.

“It’s good, you know?” Genji was still looking at him attentively. “We’ll be together in the end. Your spirit will come back home, as will that of that mortal of yours”. He chuckled and winked. “He’s very cute”.

“Genji! I…”

“Told you so! From the beginning, and you can’t say I haven’t!”

He was right. Genji’d known long before him, and he’d refused to listen. Now the picture of McCree, with his smile ready to blossom any moment and his golden eyes made his heart leap. A fiery blush crept up his neck, but this time he didn’t deny anything.

“Jesse – I like his name, you know? – is a good man. And a smart one. You’ll have a good time with him, and I can’t wait to meet him too”. Genji stretched his legs and let sand drip between his toes. “I envy you so much, if you don’t learn all you can from humanity and tell me everything I’ll never speak to you again!”

“Is that a promise?” he grinned, and got an identical look back.

“Look who’s talking! Your boyfriend is quite chatty himself, isn’t it? This is hilarious, all those years pestering me with how wrong my curiosity for mankind was and now…”

Hanzo sobered instantly and his voice sounded much harder.

“I was mistaken, I know. Are you going to use this against me?”

“What? No way, I’m just happy for you. Really”. He squeezed Hanzo’s hand and he looked up to meet a pair of gentle dark eyes. “Enjoy it. Do it for me, ok? When I say I have forgiven you I mean it from the bottom of my heart, you’ll never hear me reproach you”.

Genji clapped his hands and stood up, putting his fists on his sides and grinning at the sea.

“Anyway, you’d better go now. Do you mind if I come visit you every now and then? Like this?”

“I… no, of course, but…”

His brother gave him one last, bright look and took a step back.

“I’ll try to stay out of your dirtiest dreams. Come on, go back to your holiday on Earth and be as happy as you can. And tell Jesse I said hello”.

Hanzo tried to stand up, but before he could bend his knees Genji smiled from ear to ear and everything went black.

His wet eyes shot open in the darkness and he caught a painful, deep breath. No more sea air of humming of waves, just the chemical silence of the hospital wing. His hair felt damp on the back of his head, and the thick bandage wrapped around his torso hitched. It had been horrible – waking up and seeing the tube protruding from his chest, all those unfamiliar faces around him, the strange smell… he remembered he’d cursed them all and tried to fight, too weak to go anywhere.

Only the mention of Jesse’s name by a dark, shocked man who’d tried to introduce himself as Gabriel Reyes had calmed him enough to let the healers do their job.

He slithered back on the pillows and grimaced when his ribcage yelled an outraged protest.

A perforated lung and a couple of broken ribs hadn’t killed him, but they hurt every time he breathed.

He was not used to suffering and he didn’t like it.

He ran a hand over his face and snorted when his fingers brushed the stubble on his jawline. This too was new, but he had no time to decide whether he appreciated the novelty or not.

It was night, even the corridor bathed in a soft dusk.

Maybe it was the right moment to try and sneak past the nurses’ vigilance, to visit Jesse after two days of desperate longing and concern. He threw the covers off his legs – Reyes had been kind enough to provide him with a pair of sweatpants – but when he tried to put a foot off the bed something moved right out of the door. He immediately stopped and tensed.

And then he appeared. A tall shadow, with unruly hair and an equally wild beard was leaning heavily to the doorframe.

Hanzo clenched his teeth and felt tears in his eyes again as he took in McCree’s appearance. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sparkling – his left arm missing.

They couldn’t speak. McCree stumbled to his bed and Hanzo extended his arms, sighing and flexing his fingers with the blind need to hold him to his heart.

McCree knelt on the mattress and nearly fell on top of him, his arm tensing as he tried not to crush him or the device keeping his lung in place.

It was painful – they were both weak and still severely wounded, but he didn’t care. McCree was panting in his ear, his lips trembling on his skin, and Hanzo covered his face in silent kisses.

McCree pulled back to capture his lips with his mouth, a quick, hungry mark that reminded them both they were alive. That they belonged with each other.

“Can you stand?” McCree’s voice was a caress to his heart, and Hanzo could only nod quickly in response.

He was not so sure he actually could, but he had to try. He grabbed McCree’s shoulders – how amazing the solid flesh felt under his hands, alive and warm – and closed his eyes in a mixture of tenderness and pure physical pain when a strong arm circled his waist, careful around his bandages, to help him on his feet.

He left his bed and precariously stood up; a whirlwind of white sparkles lit up at the corner of his eyes and he blinked them away, one hand on McCree’s shoulder, the other on the mattress.

“Let’s go away. I need to be with you”, a rough whisper to his ear, soft and hot enough to make him forget how hard it was for him to breathe and how terrified he’d been when he’d first opened his eyes in that new, alien world. McCree took his hand and slowly, limping together, they left the room.

In the corridor Hanzo squeezed his fingers.

“Where?”

“This way”, and he took him to a green door opening on the wall. A white sign stated boldly ‘emergency exit’, and McCree pushed the handle.

It was like in his dream. The warm air, its scent of salt and seaweed, the murmur of the tide… the hospital faced the sea, now black under an endless, starry sky.

When they reached a quiet corner, far from the emergency exit and hidden enough in case anyone could check out for them, they were both shaking. Hanzo was the first to fall sitting on the edge of the concrete wall, one hand pressed on his side where his broken ribs pulsated insistently. McCree dropped to his left, his only arm circling his shoulders and pulling him close.

They stood still until Hanzo could breathe a bit more easily, and he finally looked up to his mortal.

They had to talk, but first…

He cupped McCree’s face and lowered it until their lips met. A long, real kiss, with McCree’s trembling hand balling his hair in his fist and his tongue rediscovering him once more.

Being human, and probably having survived death, only made it all more intense, and the brand new ache in his chest had little to do with his wounds. Hanzo let his hand flutter down McCree’s left shoulder and stop on his biceps.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered on his mouth, but McCree shook his head.

“Not your fault, starshine. Don’t worry too much, I’ll get used to this”.

“I could have saved your arm. If you only…”

The grip in his hair tightened, and the tingling in his scalp sent an unexpected spike of desire up his spine.

“Don’t. I don’t regret anything – stopping a global war, setting you free and having you by my side is all worth both my arms and legs. And my life, too, if only I wasn’t so determined to spend it with you”.

Hanzo pulled him in for another kiss, until they both were panting for that wild mixture of faintness and unrelenting desire.

“I’m the one who should apologize, Hanzo”, he muttered. In the night of Gibraltar his eyes were dark, his hair the mane of a lion.

“Why? You…”

“I wanted you to be free and instead I made you human. And I wish I could say I did it out of thoughtfulness alone, but… I was selfish. I… I wanted to be with you, and it seemed like a good idea but they… they hurt you and…”

“Jesse”, he interrupted him, forcing him to keep his eyes focused on his face. “It’s what _I_ wanted, and all you did was giving me the opportunity to choose once and for all. I have no fear of death, and now we’re together. Clear your mind from these doubts, please”.

McCree chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose, a gesture so familiar and soft Hanzo felt he could have wept again.

“No regrets?” he asked, their forehead touching, their lashes intertwined.

“No regrets”. Hanzo brushed his nose on McCree’s, making him smile even more. With a sigh he sat back and pulled Hanzo close.

It felt good – his head on the hard muscles, the pulse comforting him and slowing his own thundering heart, until McCree started to squirm, sliding his arm between them.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure, yeah, I just wanted to… damn, it’s more complicated than… look, mind to help me?” and he pointed at the pocket of his pants, tensed over a square shape. Hanzo rolled his eyes but obliged, pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter and leaving them in his lap. His hand, though, rested on his thigh in a slow caress.

“Yer an angel”, said McCree, opening the pack with his teeth and tapping its bottom until a cigarette fell on his lips.

“No, I’m a mortal like you”, he answered, unable to hide a soft laughter in his tone. McCree’s face shone for a moment at the flame of the lighter, and Hanzo felt his head light at how beautiful and dear to his heart this man was. Despite the rugged look, the pale skin and the ruffled hair he was his love.

Grinning, McCree smoked in silence and leaned to kiss his temple.

“You’re human. An’ I haven’t forgotten what I said…”

“Impressive. You say a lot of things, you must have a better memory than I thought”.

His sarcasm didn’t cause the reaction he’d expected. McCree threw the cigarette away and lifted Hanzo’s chin with two fingers. Not a kiss, but something more.

“… but the truth is, I don’t need to let myself fall in love with you. I fear I already have”.

Hanzo forgot everything. Fear, pain, the dull throbbing of his wounds and the weakness making his body heavy. He gave him another kiss, blind to everything but the light shining inside him. The stars on his tattoo might be just ink on his skin, now, but his heart had never been brighter.

His words quivered on McCree’s lips, living in the air they shared and only for the two of them.

“The concern is mutual. And I couldn’t be happier”.

“Even if your magic is gone?”

Hanzo smiled and ran his hand down his cheek, resting it on the soft flesh of his throat.

“Mostly gone”. It was hard, it needed effort and concentration, but the gentle energy that vibrated between them was real. They looked at each other, knowing exactly what that meant.

McCree gulped and bit his lower lip.

“If only we weren’t in a military hospital, soon to be hunted by some very angry nurse and both too tired to live, I’d gladly give in to the temptation, but…”

“… but we have time”. And it was the purest form of bliss he’d ever experienced.

They had _time_. They had each other, and a whole world ready to welcome them. McCree sighed and caressed his hair again.

“What do you want to do now? I mean, once we’re outta here…”

“I can show you the past, and you can teach me the present”.

“And we have a future to discover together, love”.

 _Love_. Hanzo smiled as he’d never smiled before, holding McCree so close their hearts beat against each other.

The door slammed behind them and a flash of yellow light slashed the night.

“I found them!” yelled a nervous female voice. “I can’t believe you two are such idiots to leave your rooms after losing all that blood and nearly dying, I swear to God some people have no care for their own lives!”

McCree laughed and placed a last kiss on Hanzo’s lips.

“Spotted. End of our private moment”.

But it was alright. As a small troop of nurses and doctors dragged them back to their beds with a flow of reprimands Hanzo could barely hear them, or feel the fatigue as he limped back through the corridor.

They had time. They had each other. He was free and loved, and whatever eternity had in store for him he was ready to face it.

For now, though, he brushed McCree’s hand one last time before the door closed behind him.

Maybe Genji’d been right since the beginning, and now his punishment was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I post a last chapter I feel sad, because I'm never really ready to let go of stories. This is no exception, and while every story is special on its own, this one was a whole new kind of challenge. I had some delicate topic in mind and was scared to death I could come out as crude or shallow or insensitive, but I think in the end everything went decently fine.  
> I started to write McHanzo this February, and after every story I was like "ok, last one, I'm to go back writing original stuff" - and then BAM! another fanfiction incoming. What a weak ass I am.
> 
> Thank you all for having been there through this adventure, it was so important and I'm ridiculously grateful for every kind word and thought <3

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (early) birthday (it's tomorrow) to me with a brand new McHanzo fic :3
> 
> This started with a chat with a friend (@queenseptienna, check her out on Tumblr, it's 100% worth it) and a "yeah but what about djinn!Hanzo?". My obsession did the rest.
> 
> Harut is a fictional setting, lost somewhere in a troubled corner of the desert; McCree is still young enough to be too hot blooded to accept orders, and Hanzo... well, next chapter will be all about him, so hang on and you'll see what's up with him.
> 
> I got the title from a Kamelot song, in case you're wondering. I'm a lazy ass with titles.
> 
> Rating and tags will be updated with the oncoming chapters (like: who's the bad guy?), so be sure to keep an eye out for changes.
> 
> Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more adventures! (And as usual, I'm always struggling with English, so pls send help and point out whatever I fucked up <3) 
> 
> (Good god I'm a sucker for slow burn and mutual pining, sorry everyone)
> 
> Val  
> @acupofgeek


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